LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Copyright m».„L... 

ShelO...\/\/S<blb 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Pebbles and Boulders 



SELECTED FROM POEMS 



WRITTEN AT MOMENTS OF LEISURE 



^ BY 

NATHAN A. WOODWARD, A. M. 



WHILE PRACTICING LAW IN BATAVIA, N. V. 



'Shell -u'ithin shell — Dreavi folded o'er dream.'' 



BUFFALO 

CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 

1895 



eta 



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K 






Copyright, 1895, 
By NATHAN A. WOODWARD. 



Printed by C. W. Moulton, 
buffalo, n. v. 



CONTENTS. 



WHITHER GOEST THOU ? . . . . 9 

WORDS TO A MARINER 11 

THE TWO NAME WRITERS .... 13 

COME SING ME A SONG 15 

THE MUSIC OF THE LIFE MARCH ... 16 

DRIFTING 19 

MONEY IS KING 20 

THE ROCK AND THE PEBBLE . . . .23 

THE AGED WANDERER'S RETURN ... 26 

THE POETS' LINES 30 

LONELY HOURS 31 

TYPICAL FANCIES OF CHILDHOOD . . -33 

THE PAST AND FUTURE .... 42 
EACH HATH HIS POST OF DUTY . . -44 

THE IDLER 46 

THE STUDENT. A FRAGMENT . . . -47 

I AM DREAMING 51 

COTTON WAS KING 52 

I LOVE THIS GRAND OLD WORLD . . 63 

AN ODE TO TIME 66 

THE WAY OF THE WORLD .... 67 

RETROSPECT 70 

IMMORTALITY 72 

THE BRAVE ONLY WIN 83 

THE AGED FIFER 84 

A TEMPERANCE ODE «S8 

JAMIE AND MARY, OR COURTSHIP AND FAMILY 

JARS 89 

OLD FATHER TIME AND DAME NATURE . . 91 

THE LONG AGO 93 

LINES ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER . . 95 



CONTENTS. 



EVENING REFLECTIONS. LIFE AND IMMOR- 
TALITY 

A GLANCE AT LIFE 

THE SOUL HATH A VOICE . 

REPLY TO THE SOUL HATH A VOICE 

REVERE THYSELF! O MAN! 

PRAYER: QUESTION AND ANSWER . 

DEATH: THE KING OF TERRORS 

ALL ARE BUILDERS 

TOILERS AND IDLERS 

BEAUTY MAY FORGE AN ARTFUL CHAIN 

LONE, ALL ALONE .... 

THE BATTLE OF LIFE . 

A BIRTHDAY SONG . . . 

THE QUEER PREACHER'S QUEER TEXT 

THE CLOSE OF TPIE TERM SCHOOL 

A SCHOOL SONG .... 

A DEAD YEAR'S REQUIEM . 

HASTY SEPULTURE 

DEDICATION OF AN ALBUM 

JENNIE LIND'S SONG OF WELCOME TO AMERICA 

THE UTILITY OF THE ALEHOUSE . 

BROTHER, DEAR BROTHER COME HOME 



97 
104 

105 
107 
109 
no 
112 

115 
118 
120 
121 
122 
124 
126 
128 
129 
131 
135 
136 
138 
140 
146 



WHITHER GOEST THOU ? 

WHITHER goest thou my boy ? 
Bubbling o'er with mirth and joy ! 
Spendest thou thy golden hours, 
Seeking naught but fragile flowers ? 
Thinkest thou no worthier prize 
Can be sought, than butterflies ? 
Deemest thou that sport and mirth. 
Give thee all those hours are worth ? 
Doth the present in thy plan. 
Shadow forth the future man ? 
Wilt thou live without an aim. 
Leave at death no worthy name ? 

Whither goest thou young man ? 
What thy purpose, motive, plan ? 
Many paths on every side. 
To thy footsteps — open wide; 
Ponder well — for there is need — 
Where thy chosen path doth lead. 
Pleasure hath a siren voice, 
Make no path of hers thy choice, 
Pleasure's paths have pitfalls deep, 
Those who tread them wake to weep. 
Harsher though her voice may sound 
Duty's path hath solid ground. 



xo PEBBLES AND BOULDERS, 

Whither goest thou my friend ? 
Whither do thy footsteps tend ? 
Whither did they tend of yore, 
In the pathway traveled o'er? 
Hast thou wandered day by day, 
O'er a doubtful — devious way, 
Floating — drifting — here and there, 
Like a snowflake in the air; 
Like the thistle's feathery down, 
By the fickle Ijreezes blown, 
With no w^orthy end In view, 
To no noble purpose true ? 

Whither goest thou — old man ? 
Since thy life is but a span. 
And thy journey soon must end, 
Tell me where thy footsteps tend ? 
Tend they toward that dismal shore. 
Veiled in darkness evermore ? 
Tend they toward the golden gate. 
Where glad v/elcome doth await. 
All the faithful good and true 
Who with life's chief end in view, 
Falter not, though fortune frown, 
Worthy of a golden crown ? 

Every pathway hath an end, 
Wheresoe'er its course doth tend. 
There are crooked paths and straight 
Ponder well the choice you make. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. n 

If the better path you spurn, 
Will a wasted life return ? 
Who can e'er the power restore, 
To retrace life's pathway o'er? 
He whose footsteps day by day, 
Seeks the straight and narrow way, 
Shall — in brighter — happier clime, 
Live — and lead a life sublime. 



WORDS TO A MARINER. 

MARINER bold! why seek for gold. 
Far off on a stormy sea ? 
Knowest thou not, hard is their lot, 
Whose home on the wave may be ? 

Mariner brave the briny wave, 

Rolls over full many a gem; 
While far below where corals grow. 

Gleams many a diadem. 

Mariner bold, thy yellow gold. 
When won may be lost again; 

And thy frail bark in billows dark. 
Sink down unseen in the main. 



12 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Mariner brave the briny wave, 

Tossing thy bark in its strife, 
Where dark storms lower at midnight hour, 

Is an emblem of man's life. 

Mariners bold, men seek for gold, 

On life's inconstant sea; 
Where billows dark surround each bark, 

Whate'er its freight may be. 

Mariner brave though wild is the wave. 

Tossing thy bark in its strife. 
Pray to that Power Who ruleth the hour. 

And holdeth the issues of life. 

Mariner bold treasure thy gold. 

Where angels the watch-guard keep, 

Then tempests may roar, and vex thee full sore. 
Thy bark shall conquer the deep. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 



13 



THE TWO NAME WRITERS. 

A YOUTH went forth, and wrote his name, 
On ocean's sandy shore; 
The billows came — that name was gone, — 
He saw it there no more. 

Again he went and wrote his name, 

Upon the yielding sand; 
And traced each letter deep and plain, 

With strong and heavy hand. 

The billows came — that name was gone, 

His toil was all in vain; 
And yet, he wrote from day to day, 

Again — and yet again. 

And oft he left a foot-print there. 

And traced his name beside; 
A wave would come — and both were gone— 

They vanished with the tide. 

And when old age with whitened hair, 

His brow had sprinkled o'er, 
He still wrote on with trembling hand 

The name he wrote before. 



14 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

That once fair youth — an aged man, 

Was buried in the sand; 
Nor foot-print left — nor name to mark, 

The labor of his hand. 

Another youth went forth and wrote, 

His name upon a rock; 
And deep he traced the letters there, 

Upon a massive block. 

And then each day, he went again, 
And carved them deeper still; 

Upon that hard old granite rock, 
That crowned a rugged hill. 

And when old age threw o'er his hair. 
Its whitening flakes of snow, 

That once fair youth sank down to rest, 
Within the vale below. 

But on that hill on granite rock. 

He labored not in vain; 
No raging storm — nor aught can blot. 

That deep imprinted name. 

And thus it is with all mankind. 

Some write a name in sand; 
And some will carve it on a rock. 

With strong and steady hand. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 15 

And some will fill a nameless grave, 
Upon time's shifting shore; 

While others live in noble deeds, 
When life's brief space is o'er. 

Now ye, who toil remember well, 

Your work can only last, 
With that, ye spend your strength upon, 

The substance of your task. 

Then write, ye, names by noble deeds. 

Deep in the hearts of men; 
Nor storm — nor time - shall e' er deface. 

The record of your pen. 



COME SING ME A SONG. 

/^"^OME sing me a song in magical rhyme, 
V_>< That shall carry me back to my childhood's home, 
That shall call up the playmates of olden time , 
Wherever their footsteps at present may roam. 

And sing rne a scng that shall bring forth to view, 
The groves and the fields where we rambled at will. 

The lawns and the paths, where our feet brushed the dew. 
The landscape, the river, and brook by the mill. 



1 6 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Come sing me a song that shall bring to the ear, 
The many glad tones of the young and the gay; 

Shall call forth the music, we once loved to hear. 
Those voices we heard in our childhood's play. 

And sing me a song that shall gather once more, 
Those beautiful forms that we met long ago; 

The sweet faces we loved in glad days of yore. 

Whose red cheeks and smiles set our hearts in a glow. 

Then, sing me the song a fond mother sung, 

As she rocked me to sleep at the close of the day, 

While her loving arms around me were flung, 
When weary in childhood with frolic and play. 



THE MUSIC OF THE LIFE MARCH. 

ALL are marching — onward marching, 
O'er the battlefield of life ; 
There is music — other music, 

Than the stirring drum and fife. 
'Tis the music of the pulse — beats. 

Throbbing fast in earnest strife, 
'Tis the music of the foot-falls. 

Of the eager struggling crowd. 
Music of the tones exultant 

Of the haughty and the proud. 
Or from lower notes and weaker, 

That are uttered — scarce aloud. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 17 

'Tis the music of the voices, 

Of the young— the gay — the fair, 
Joyful music — from the laughter. 

That comes rippling through the air. 
Sterner music from the conflict, 

That is raging everywhere, 
Harsher music from the clangor, 

Of the contest fierce and long, 
That the feebler and the weaker. 

Oft maintain against the strong, 
With a courage never failing; 

Right forever battling wrong. 

Grievous music, notes discordant, 

When a wrong hath slain the right; 
When corruption is triumphant. 

Justice vanquished in the fight. 
And the spotless robes of honor, 

Soiled — are rendered black as night. 
Sadder music, from the vanquished. 

Scattered o'er life's battlefield; 
Those who fought at disavantage, 

Losing sword or lacking shield, 
Some of whom, though lion-hearted 

Struggling long, were forced to yield. 

There is music — mournful music, 

Stealing forth with sad refrain, — 
Dirge like music for the fallen 

Lifeless — stretched upon the plain; 



1 8 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Doleful music from the mourners, 

Grieving o'er a comrade slain. 
Yet, the marching, still continues, 

Filled is every vacant space — 
And the crowd moves ever onward, 

With a tireless — ceaseless pace — 
Moving onward — ever onward — 

To their final halting place. 

When this toilsome march is ended, 

Life's fierce conflicts, all, are o'er, 
When the final halt is ordered, 

Jarring music heard no more — 
Rest will come to warriors weary, 

Peaceful rest, unknown before ; 
Some, now ranked as worthy victors. 

With the vanquished will be found 
Others, now esteemed as vanquished, 

Then — shall be as victors, crowned 
And their praise and commendation. 

Shall, for ages hence, resound. 

Let us, then, right onward marching. 

Bravely bear what e'er betide — 
Unappalled by doubt, or danger. 

Looming up on every side. 
Battling error — wrong — dishonor — 

Be like soldiers— true, and tried- 
Faithful to our Great Commander, 

All his stern commands obey. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Shunning naught of toil, or duty, 
Faltering never— on our way. 

Looking to the light supernal, 
Life beyond— eternal day. 



DRIFTING. 

ON the restless sea of Time, 
I am drifting— drifting evermore, 
Past my youth and manhood's prime. 
Drifting to a far-off shore. 

Other barks than mine are there. 
Slowly drifting— drifting evermore, 
Though the winds be foul or fair, 
Drifting to that unknown shore. 

None need seek that shore in vain, 
All are drifting — drifting evermore. 
Swifter currents they may gain, 
Drifting to that unseen shore. 

Some will mourn their dismal fate. 
Quickly drifting — drifting evermore, 
All their sorrows will relate, 
Drifting to that distant shore. 



20 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Some will move with joy along, 
Calmly drifting — drifting evermore, 
And will sing a cheerful song, 
Drifting to that blissful shore. 



M' 



MONEY IS KING. 

ONEY is King — despotic its power ; 

It ruleth the world. Men tremble and cower 
At the beck of its nod, 
As if it w^re God ; 
And many would rather lie under the sod, 
Than feel its displeasure, or meet with the frown, 
Of this terrible king— men honor and crown. 

It buildeth the palace — temple and tower, 

And fills them with pride and pomp by its power, 

It erecteth the fort. 

To guard a king's court, 
And all the rich commerce that sails into port ; 
It fashions the war ship, with armor of steel, 
Whose thunders cause rock-built cities to reel. 

It bridgeth the river, though wide be its stream, 
It buildeth of iron, a highway for steam. 

To draw from afar, 

On the rumbling car. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 21 

The products of peace, or the sinews of war ; 
It casteth the cannon — makes powder and ball, 
And armeth the legions that come at its call. 

It lureth the robber, burglar and thief, 

As ships, by false lights, are lured to the reef ; 

It buildeth the jail, 

Then furnisheth bail, 
For culprits — whose crimes are on a large scale ; 
It prompteth the traitor his country to sell. 
Then, payeth the sexton, for tolling his knelL 

It hireth the parson to herald reform, 

Then, payeth the skeptic to teach men to scorn, 

What the parson may preach, 

And the gospel doth teach. 
As if, it had equal regard for each ; 
Not caring if wheat, or if tares be sown. 
Provided men bow at its princely throne. 

What form hath this King, men serve and obey, 
And how doth it look, and dress, day by day ? 

Can any one tell, 

By what magic spell. 
It ruleth mankind — wherever they dwell ; 
Regardless if peace, or war, may prevail, 
If widows do weep, or orphans may Vv^ail ? 

The form of this king, no mortal doth know, 
Whether angel above or demon below ; 



22 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

But judged by its deeds, 
And the people it leads, 
An angel of light, when relieving men's needs ; 
A demon of hell, when leading astray, 
And luring to vice, frail creatures of clay. 

Its body and head are finest of gold ; 

Two glittering diamonds, its eye-sockets hold ; 
They glisten and shine. 
Like the sparkle of wine, 

Or eyes of an adder with light serpentine ; 

The rest of its form of silver is made. 

And the king, in bills, and bonds, is arrayed. 

But few can resist this king of the mine. 
Who holdeth the world in coils serpentine ; 

This demon of night, 

Or, angel of light. 
That speedeth a wrong — or enforceth the right ; 
This Janus-faced king, despotic in power. 
At the beck of whose nod, men tremble and cower. 

Men worship this king, as they did of old. 
The calf, once moulded, by Aaron, of gold ; 

And some have their price, 

Like cotton or rice, 
Or, goods that are woven with cunning device ; 
They eagerly strive for increase of gain, 
And barter for pelf— soul — body — and brain. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 



23 



THE ROCK AND THE PEBBLE. 

A GIANT stood on a lofiy height, 
On ocean's stormy shore, 
Where dashing waves with restless might. 

Were breaking evermore. 
For the storm that touched the ocean's breast, 

Had roused its sleeping" wrath ; 
And warring waves with foaming crest 
Arose along- its path ; 

And the billows flung- their feathery foam, 

Like snow-flakes to the sky, 
Which darkly hung with a brow of gloom, 

O'er the conflict raging high, 
Then, rolled he down from that mountain top, 

With sinewy arm and strong, 
A massive rock, no power could stop. 

As it madly dashed along. 

It dashed along from rock to rock, 

Like lightning from a cloud ; 
A thunder peal — an earthquake's shock, 

Hath scarce a voice so loud. 
It dashed along down craggy steep, 

And sought the raging sea ; 
It struck the billows of the deep, 

As if for mastery. 



24 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

But the billows heeded not its might ; 

They struggled as of yore ; 
And the foam so white — still met the sight, 

As it sank to rise no more. 
That massive rock — no impulse gave 

Though moved by a giants power, 
When it struck the breast of the swollen wave, 

In that wild — stormy hour. 

An infant played on the trackless sand. 

When the surge was sunk in sleep ; 
A pebble he tossed from his tiny hand. 

And it struck the pulseless deep. 
It settled down into ocean's breast, 

And it touched his lion heart ; 
A ripple it woke from its silent rest. 

With a wild convulsive start. 

That pebble stirred the deep, still tide. 

It moved those waters blue. 
And that ripple spread out in circles wide. 

And over the ocean flew. 
When it came where a stranded vessel lay, 

It had grown a mighty wave ; 
It bore that ship in its arms away, 

And rescued its sailors brave. 

And that wave moved on — from shore to shore 

By an infant hand awoke ; 
And the boundless sea in its depths moved more 

From the pebble, than rock's rude stroke. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

'Tis thus when the tempests of passion sweep 
Unchained — o'er the human heart, 

When the angry surge from fountains deep, 
Breaks forth with convulsive start ; — 

Truth falls on the ear, like a rock on the wave, 

When the sea is tempest tossed ; 
In measureless depths where the billows rave, 

Its might lies buried and lost. 
And, thus — when the tempest of passion is o'er, 

And the heart's wild sea hath rest, 
A word — like a pebble from ocean's shore, 

Let fall on the human breast, — 

A ripple may wake on its surface chill. 

And stir all its depths below, 
Till the slumbering tide of a human will, 

Is changed in its ebb and flow. 



25 



26 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS, 



THE AGED WANDERER'S RETURN. 

AN old man sat on a cold gray stone, 
One bleak November's day; 
Nor heaved he a sigh nor uttered a groan, 
As ragged he sat and all alone, 

Right close by the side of the way. 

His shoes were rent and his feet lay bare, 

Exposed to the frost and snow, 
Whilst through his old hat the matted hair, 
But told too well — that no crown was there, 

To shelter the head below. 

His breast was uncovered and neckcloth gone, 

And his eye so red was dim. 
His cheek though bloated was pale and wan, 
And the wind was blowing so cold anon. 

He shivered in every limb. 

Then thoughts of the past like a cloud of light. 

Came floating before his eye; 
The hopes of his youth and the withering blight. 
That had nipped their bloom like a frost at night. 

The flowers when winter is nigh, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 27 

And he sat and wept as he pondered o'er 

The visions of earher years; 
And he sighed for the past to come once more, 
For hfe's merry morn again to restore 

His youth with its hopes and fears, 

Then wandered he back, where the flowers grew wild, 

Where a crystal fountain springs; 
Where a rill leaped forth and the landscape smiled, 
Where he chased the butterfly when a child. 

And grasped at its painted wings. 

And he stood once more, by the rippling stream, 

That ran by his father's door; 

Where he roamed of old when love's f^nd dream. 
Came over his heart like morning's beam. 

Over hill-top, tree and flower. 

And he thought of a youth that once wandered there, 

With a maiden by his side; 
And he saw her brow, and her waving hair. 
And her witching smile, and cheek so fair, 

When she first became his bride. 



Then he stood again by the pleasant cot, 

Where they dwelt for many a year; 
While fortune smiled on their happy lot, 
And time sped on — and they knew it not. 
The eye undimmed by a tear. 



28 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Then he stood by the dying couch once more, 

Of that much loved wife and bride; 
While the sky with darkness seemed mantled o'er, 
And he bent his head as he bowed before. 

On the morning when she died. 

Then he stood again by the lonely grave, 

Where that loved one, now. lies sleeping; 
Where the green mossy turf, the wild flowers pave. 
And the ever-green spruce and fir-tree wave, 
Their silent silent vigils keeping. 

And he thought, how, once long years agone, 

He had stood there broken hearted; 
How he wandered forth, alone and forlorn. 
How from clime to clime his grief he had borne, 

Since he and that loved one parted. 

Then he thought again of the merry child, 

That sat on his father's knee; 
Of a mother too with her accents mild. 
And the joy he felt when that mother smiled 

On the sports of his childish glee. 

But they come to him now in a sainted form, 

With the angel form of his bride; 
And they whisper peace — and beckon him on — 
To the mansions of rest, and his heart grows warm, 

And his bitter tears are dried. 



29 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

By that cold gray stone the old man lay, 

On its bosom he pillowed his head; 
He had wandered in sadness for many a day, — 
A pilgrim for years, o'er life's rugged way, 

But the light of life has fled. 

When the morrow came the passer by, 

Beheld his form still there; 
The vision he saw still lighted his eye, 
A smile on his lips — and none knew why, 

A snow wreath in his hoary hair. 

Then they laid him to rest by the lonely grave, 

Where the bride of his youth lies sleeping; 
Where the green mossy turf, the wild flowers pave. 
And the ever-green spruce and the fir-tree wave, 
Their silent vigils keeping. 



And there may he sleep, though the storm winds sweep. 

O'er the pilgrim — forgotten to-morrow; 
His slumber so deep — that the heavens may weep — 
And the frost or the flowers, o'er his lone grave creep. 

They will wake not a pang of sorrow. 



30 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 



THE POET'S LINES. 

WHAT a musical sound had the ringing rhyme, 
As it fell on the ear in youth's early prime; 
As oft as we heard it what visions would start, 
How the blood went bounding from the head to the heart! 

Like the magical wand of a by-gone age, 
Were the poets lines on the printed page; 
And they conjured up like a fanciful dream, 
Such wonderful sights as were never yet seen. 

Oft the metrical words of his subtle pen, 
Woke a rippling laugh — and again — now and then, 
We can hardly tell how, and we never knew why, 
Other words often brought gushing tears to the eye. 

How the merry jingle of rhymes double or single, 
Made every nerve tingle — when on hill-top or dingle. 
There was uttered aloud to some youthful crowd, 
Noble words, of which justly the world might be proud. 

Then we felt, poets dwelt, in some fairyland; 

That the pen in his hand was a mystic wand, 

That the weird witching spell that flowed from his lines, 

Was the music of fairy bells wrought into chimes. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 3I 

We read them, and loved them, we learned them by heart, 
Of the web of existence they have since formed a part; 
We shall treasure them ever — those rich gems of thought, 
By his wonderful skill, into heart and brain wrought. 



LONELY HOURS. 

LONELY are the hours, to night, 
Clouds have mantled all the sky; 
Moon and stars are out of sight, 
Darkness curtains now the eye. 

Sadness steals across my brow, 
Shadows creep upon the heart; 

Not a friend is near me now, 
Who can bid one pang depart. 

Summer flowers have ceased to bloom. 
Autumn's leaves are scattered round, 

Earth seems shrouded o'er with gloom; 
Where can hope, and joy be found ? 

Not among the leaves that fall. 
Nor, the faded flowers among; 

Not beneath the dreary pall. 
O'er expiring summer flung. 



32 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Not, where gloomy griefs assail, 
Nor where disappointments dwell; 

Not, where doubt and fear prevail, 

Where they are — what tongue can tell ? 

Hope is but a faded flower, 

Autumn's breath hath laid full low, 

Joy a dead leaf from the bower, 
Hope deserted long ago. 

All the flowers shall bloom once more, 
All the bowers be clad in green; 

Autumn — winter soon be o'er. 
Spring be jeweled like a queen; 

But with these will hope return, 
Like a bird from other clime, 

In the heart can joy sojourn. 
As in childhood's early prime ? 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 33 



TYPICAL FANCIES OF CHILDHOOD. 

?nniS morn — a beautiful morn of spring ; 

1 And the sun comes creeping over the hills, 
While the dew-drops sparkle on flower and leaf, 

And the crystal waters dance in the rills. 

' Tis morn — a radiant morn of spring ; 

A lovely landscape, clothed in green, 
Spreads out, like a picture, far and wide. 

With wood-crowned hills and vales between. 

*Tis morn— a fanciful morn of spring ; 

In the azure space floats a fleecy cloud. 
It moves — like a ship on ocean's wave, 

Oft changing its form — as with life endowed. 

'Tis morn — a wonderful morn of spring ; 

And the buds send forth, from branches bare, 
The leaves they protected through cold and storm. 

And the flowers they guarded with watchful care. 

'Tis morn — a magical morn of spring ; 

An acorn dropped in the moistened earth, 
Sends up its stalk to the balmy air, 

And thus, a majestic oak hath birth. 



34 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

' Tis morn — a musical morn of spring ; 

The piping of Insects — the hum of the bees, 
The bleating of flocks— the lowing of herds, 

And drum of the partridge — are borne on the breeze. 

* TIs morn — a refulgent morn of spring ; 

A rill leaps forth from the green hill- side, 
It laughs, as It grows to a babbling brook. 

Then swells to a river — deep and wide. 

'TIs morn — the typical morn of life ; 

A boy looks out on the beautiful scene. 
And he sees the vales, and the wood-crowned hills, 

And the dewy landscape clothed In green : 

Hears the Insects voice — the hum of the bees, 

The noise of the flocks, and sounds of the herds — 

The drum of the partridge on the woody hills — 
And the musical notes from the songs of the birds. 

He looks on the rill, and the babbling brook. 
That grows to a river — deep, and wide ; 

On the azure sky — and the fleecy cloud — 
And the acorn's stalk, that grows by his side. 

He bathes his feet in the diamond dew. 

And he climbs the steeps of the rugged hills. 

Wild flowers he plucks, from the verdant meads, 
And quenches his thirst at the crystal rills. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 35 

He lists to the bleat of the wooly flocks, 

And watches the freaks of the lambs at play ; 

He marks the course of the lowing herds, 
As they crop their food and wander away. 

He looks at the sky and the moving cloud, 

That sails far away in the liquid air ; 
'Tis a bird with wings — then a ship with sails, — 

And he longs to be riding or floating there. 

Then he fancies he sees, in the changing mass — 
A ravenous beast, that is seeking for prey, — 

That it watches a lad in white robes dressed, 
Who has fallen asleep by the side of the way. 

And he gazes in fear — lest the beast may seize 

On the sleeping boy — and may rend — and devour ; 

'Tis a lion — at first — then, the form of a bear — 
And the sleeper, a youth, seems now in its power. 

Then the youth, rousing up — is a strong man armed. 
And the terrified beast soon fides from the sight ; 

Other forms start forth — they are warriors bold. 
And a battle they wage, with valorous might. 

But the strong man armed drives the warriors back, 
They scatter like leaves in an autumn gale ; 

He strikes them down, and a victory wins, 
As the hawk oft does, a bevy of quail. 



36 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Now stands he alone on the moving mass, 
With none to dispute his right — or sway ; 

And in triumph, he sails, o'er the western world, 
Where the sun drops down — at the close of day. 

Then he looks again at the fleecy cloud ; 

'Tis an angel now — and outlined well, 
Is a human form by an angel borne — 

To a far-off land — where the good shall dwell. 

Then the boy looks up at the arching sky, 

And fancies he sees — in the blue dome there — 

The floor — that sustains a heaven above — 
The dwelling of God — where the angels are. 

And he thinks — that a snow-white cloud comes down, 
To carry the good from the earth — when they die ; 

That an angel guides to a winding stair — 

Then climbs — and bears them to mansions on high. 

And he wishes, he could be borne there now — 
Alive, as he is — unincumbered by shroud ; 

Looking down on the world — as he moved along — 
Could sail to that stair — on a floating cloud. 

How grand it would be — to ride through the air — 
With the hills and dales far beneath his feet ; 

As he sailed away — o'er the outspread earth. 
What sights he could see from this lofty seat;; 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 37 

And then — when he reached that circular stair, 
With its golden step — winding round and round — 

Where the angels go up to heaven's gate — 

How quick he would climb — with a leap and bound ! 



And there — he would stop — and rest for awhile — 
And would sit on the upper stair, and wait, 

Till some good angel came up — or went down. 
And opened, for him, that beautiful gate. 

And then — if allowed — he would enter in — 
And many most wonderful things behold ; 

See good men and angels, who live inside, 

Where the gates are pearl — and the mansions of gold. 

He would roam the streets, where the seraphs dwell. 
And see all the good in that blest abode, 

With crowns on their heads, and harps in their hands, 
Engaged, with the angels, in praising God : 

Would list to the notes of the tuneful harps. 
And catch every word of each lofty song ; 

Vv^ould view the white robes in which they are clad, 
And gaze v/ith delight on the joyful throng. 

The soul of the boy, entranced at the thought, 
Sees visions of beauty revealed to the eye ; 

In fancy he hears those harps and the songs, 
The glorified sing in a far distant sky. 



38 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

As he stands amazed at the picture drawn, 

Unmindful of earth and its face so fair, 
An eagle he spied — with outstretched wings 

In circles careering in upper air. 

With an eager eye — he followed the bird, 

As it sought heavens dome in its upward flight ; 

Its form growing less — till it seemed a speck — 
Then a mote — and then — was lost to the sight. 

How the soul of the boy now panted for wings. 
To soar through the fields of the boundless air ; 

To fly to the breast of the fleecy cloud, 
And sail to the steps of the golden stair. 

Then he thought, once more, of the heavens above, 
And then, of that sainted sister, who died— 

His playmate — a year or two older than he — 

" God took her," — they said — "with Him to abide." 

He longs to depart — and dwell with her there ; 

In his arms — her beautiful form he would clasp, 
Look into those eyes — and kiss those sweet lips, 

Her small dimpled hands — in his own he would grasp. 

He would tell her all that has happened at home, 

Of the dew on the grass — of the rill and the stream — 

Of the flocks and herds — of the flowers and birds, 
And the landscape fair as a blissful dream. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 39 

He would ask, if she did not wish to come back, 
To look on the scenes she had known before ; 

To meet with her friends — see the old home again, 
And gather loved ones around her once more. 

He would ask, if she was happy up there — 
And, if they have flowers — and musical birds ; 

Inquire if the angels were pleasant and kind, 
Or spoke to her oft — and used loving words ? 

But why need he ask such questions as these ? 

For angels must love one, so good, and so true ; 
She surely was happy in mansions above ; 

"God took her" — because He loved her, he knew. 

*' Perhaps, she would ask — if he might live there — 
Might dwell with the angels — with her — and with God; 

Would get them to send some good angel down 
To carry him up to that blest abode. 

" And then he would bid farewell to the earth, 
To the flocks and herds — to the brook and rill — 

To the insects voice — the hum of the bees — 

And the drum of the partridge on wood-crowned hill. 

* ' He would bid farew^ell to the birds and flowers, 
To the dewy fields — and the stately trees — 

To the hills and vales — to the floating clouds — 
And the perfumed breath of the gentle breeze. 



40 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

" He would bid farewell to the old folks at home — 
To father and mother — and playmates dear ; 

While borne from the earth — in an angel's arms, 
He would surely be safe — he could have no fear, 

His fancies ran thus — on that bright spring morn, 
Mere child — as he was — of a tender age ; 

The landscape around him was flecked with flowers. 
And life was unfolding its fairest page. 

He had heard of a happier home — far away — 
The home of " Our Father, who art in Heaven ; " 

And the soul of the lad — untarnished by sin. 
Now yearns for the bliss to sainted ones given. 

Our Savior once said of such as the lad, 
' ' Suffer little children to come unto me, 

And forbid them not ; for of such as these 
Is the kingdom of God and Heaven to be." 

And whether the lad, shall early, or late, 

Be called to a happier world above, 
If he will give heed to those tender words 

He never shall fail of a Savior's love. 

The rill and the river — the acorn and oak — 

The eagle that soared through the trackless air — 

The beast and the child — the youth and the man — 
The pathway to bliss — by the golden stair — 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 41 

The sights he beheld, on that typical morn— 
The phantoms he saw in the changing clouds — 

Foreshadow the scenes through which he must pass- 
Prefigure events the future enshrouds. 

The life of the boy — so lately begun, 
May last for many a wearisome day ; 

Temptation may watch— like the beast in the cloud- 
To make of him, in his youth, its prey. 

But if— like the youth— whose outlines he saw, 

He arouse, and resist, with chivalrous might- 
He will prove to be— a strong man armed ; 

Temptation, and tempter— shall vanish from sight. 

He can not leave earth by longing to go ; 

He will not reach heaven by dreams that go there ; 
There is work for the lad— a task to perform — 

Good deeds are the steps— and faith is the stair ; 

And those, who would climb, must be active and brave- 
Must toil for the right— and war against wrong- 
Love God and trust Him— do good to mankind— 
And thus, win their way to the ransomed throng. 

When this magical hour is over and gone, 

Life's noontide has passed, with its burden of care ; 

When the winter of age, with its dismal shade, 
Shall bedim the eye— and whiten the hair ; 



42 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

When the ear grows dull to the sweetest sound, — 
And a feeble step — a tottering gait — 

A sinewless arm — and a worn out frame — 
Shall be his portion — his earthly estate ; 

Far above the clouds— and the eagle's flight, 

With the *' eye of faith " — may the man behold- 
Not dimly — but clearly — in heaven's own light — 
An opening gate — and a mansion of gold ; 

With a place prepared — and a victor's crown, 
For the lad once young — now aged and worn, 

Who fancied a golden stair let down 

For the good to ascend — on that typical morn. 



THE PAST AND FUTURE. 

AS fades from sight the vale — the winding stream, 
And landscape fair — when daylight wraps her robes 
Of golden splendor round her ruddy form, 
And seeks repose beneath the western sky, — 
So disappear, in age, our childish dreams — 
The gay companions that were gathered then — 
The hallowed places which we knew of old — 
The paths once trod — with flowers thickly strewn, 
Whose hidden pebbles bruised our heedless feet; — 
The rugged road that early manhood sought, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 43 

And traveled o'er; — the ceaseless toil and strife 
Of after years, with their bewildering cares — 
And bustling- diligence — that shunned repose — 
As weary oft, and worn, we battled on 
From day to day, to reach some distant goal. 

As age creeps on — and shadows fall around. 
At twilight's hour, in thoughtful silence wrapt — 
We oft recall glad days of by-gone years. 
Yet, who can e'er depict the forms that rise, 
When memory doth wave her magic wand 
Above the closing portals of the past. 
And conjures up the varied scenes of yore — 
The hills and dales — the flowery meads — the rills, 
And rippling brooks — the by-ways smoothly worn 
By playful feet — the youthful throng, whose lips 
With gayety and mirth were bubbling o'er — 
The changeful skies and fleecy, shifting clouds, 
Which fertile fancy wrought in pictured shapes. 
Now tinged by distance with a golden hue. 
That doth adorn the olden pathway trod, 
When hope was young — and expectation wore 
A radiant crown — to fade — alas! too soon! 

As deeper shadows fall with gathering years. 
And shut the gladsome sunlight from the soul, 
What tongue can tell the anxious thoughts that rise 
Unbidden, as the eager eye is strained 
To catch some outline of our futnre lot, 
And sees but gloomy shapes, and dismial clouds, 
That hide a rugged path o'er craggy steeps, 
And up interminable mountain sides! 



44 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Yet, since the future none can tell or know — 
'Twere wiser far, with joyous — trustful hearts, 
To bravely bear whatever ills betide, 
As, onward in the march of life we tread; 
And, till we reach that unknown shore towards which 
Each wayward, faltering footstep tends, so live 
That faith shall strengthen as the sight grows dim — 
And hope within the bosom shall not die. 

So live — that when the final mandate comes, 
For each to launch his trembling bark and sail 
Far off — across the silent and returnless wave — 
We bid our natal land — and all we loved, 
Along and last farewell with tearless eye; 
And though the world at our departure weep, 
So live— that we alone — at parting, smile. 



EACH HATH HIS POST OF DUTY. 

EACH one, who wears the human form, 
Hath his allotted task assigned; 
For some good purpose was he born, 
And given body, soul, and mind. 

The post of duty set for each, 

Demands the head, the hand, the heart, 
And all the means within his reach, 

That he may well perform his part. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 45 

The work another should perform, 

Was not designed for you or me; 
And should his task by us be borne, 

Our own must then neglected be. 

If by design, or want of care, 

A duty doth remain undone, 
The blame another can not share, 

It will attach to us alone. 

The post of duty each should fill, 

Should not be left to chance or fate; 
It needs reflection, purpose, will; 

The choice should not be made too late. 

For days and years move on apace, 

The time for action is at hand; 
The longest life fills little space. 

Decide upon the life-work planned. 

Then be in earnest — falter not, — 

Determine that you will succeed; 
Take hold and work, and plan, and plot, 

" Honest and faithful be your creed." 

Let no defeat dishearten you, 

And no success your soul elate; 
Let conscience guide in all you do, 

For ' tis " the good alone are great. ' ' 



46 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

If, thus, your life-work you complete. 

The post of duty called to leave, 
A welcome plaudit, you shall meet 

And heaven rejoice, though friends may grieve. 



THE IDLER. 

A SCHOOL SONG. TUNE: TROUBADOUR. 

GAILY an Idler young, squandered his time, 
Thoughtless of future life, and manhood's prime; 
*' Study's for sleepy heads," sang he so gay, 
" Merry boys! Merry boys! care drive away! " 

Gay were his comrades then, buoyant with glee, 

Careless of busy life, sporting so free; 

Joining the chorus wild, each idler sung; 

" Go it boys! Go it boys! Go it while you're young." 

Wildly from prison grates, notes of despair. 

Came from a felon's cell, the Idler was there; 

Shrieking in hollow tones, this warning bold; 

* ' Sloth' s a curse ! Sloth' s a curse ! A curse to the world ! ' ' 

List ye! A song is heard notes full of joy. 
Calling each wayward one, time to employ; 
" Up! and be doing boys — learn while ye can 
Study boys! Study boys! Mind makes the man! " 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 



47 



THE STUDENT. A FRAGMENT. 

THE hour of rest — the sweetest hour of all, 
To him — whom toil and dusty labor tires, 
Has come at length, to bless the busy world. 
The gay have sought the haunts of giddy mirth, 
Where folly dwells. The bacchanal now quaffs 
A deeper draught, and from his den of shame, 
Sends forth a wilder shout to startle heaven, 
And call down vengeance on his impious head. 

The student ceases not to con his task; 
But turns the antique page, with fingers spare, 
And trembling hand, and strains his sunken eye, 
To catch the glowing words of some old bard, 
Who made the human heart his well- tuned lyre. 
And oft he pauses, while fond fancy paints. 
The distant future to his eager gaze. 
And expectation dyes in golden hues. 
The lofty steeps he hopes, by toil, to climb. 

And yet, at times, unbidden, o'er him come. 
The thronging memories of conflicts past, 
The toil — the struggle — weary days and nights 
Of wakeful watching — till his eye grew dim, 
And o'er his pale cheek came the hectic Paish; 
E'en now his throbbing temples feel the fire 
Of wasting fever burn; but not as fierce, 
As in his bosom burns ambition's fire. 



48 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Which naught but death can quench. 

Yet, still, o'er books he plies his tireless mind, 
As if, he deemed his task but half complete. 
While aught, in thought's domain, is yet undone. 

How different he, from him whose sluggish soul 
Ne'er felt desire to know the luxury, 
Of thought! Who slumbers on from day to day, 
Or sips from sensual pleasure's shallow pool. 
The meager draught that quenches all his thirst; 
Who seeks no god, but gold, and deems him wise, 
And great and happy who possesses wealth. 

Ah! little think the dull, insensate crowd — 
How much of toil, within some cloistered wall, 
Or garret cold, where silent darkness reigns. 
Save when the flickering midnight lamp emits, 
Its feeble ray to light the toiler on, — 
Is oft endured by him, whose only hope, 
Of recompense, is but to lift their thoughts 
From out the mire of sense, to elevate 
Their grov'ling hopes, and light within their souls 
The torch of life, and fan its feeble flame. 

Yet he, whose gayest hours are thus consumed. 
In study so intense, as to consume 
The toiler, ere he is aware, is called 
An idler, by the busy, bustling crowd; 
While he, who seeks the busy mart of trade 
And there, on downy seat, reclines, to watch 
Some fev/ brief hours each day, the chance of gain, 
And plan the means whereby another's toil, 
May fill his purse, is thought to labor hard. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 49 

And said to be in business diligent, 

And servile tongues are found to lisp his praise. 

Toil on thou noble one! Though midnight clouds, 
Now fling their gloomy pall across the sky, 
And sad night-winds with melancholy wail, 
Are starting dismal echoes from their lairs, 
That shriek, like demons struggling for thy hopes. 
Yet soon, on thee, shall dawn a brighter morn, 
And balmy breezes cool thy fevered brow. 
Soon, hope deferred full long, and sickly grown. 
Shall change to glad fruition. Then shall they, 
Who scorn thee now, as one who squanders time. 
And wastes in dreams, the heritage of life. 
The lowest bow, and speak with ready lip. 
Thy praise. And thou shalt live in noble deeds, 
Both in the memory and hearts of men 
Vv^'hen their unworthy names, and worthless clay, 
Shall be forgotten with the senseless clods. 
That cover them. They toil for present gain, 
But, thou dost sow for future recompense; 
And thou shalt reap rich sheaves of golden grain, 
When, from af ir, the unknown future comes. 
To greet thy noble soul that trusted it. 

They have a cloudless morn, a pleasant noon, 
But when the sun goes down upon their acts. 
And death shall o'er their eyelids spread its film. 
The hoarded gold they worshipped, cease to beam. 
With yellow radiance on their ravished sight; 
When misspent hours of murdered time send back. 
Their dismal ghosts to shriek in hollow tones. 



50 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Within the dull, cold ear, that mirth no more 

Shall gladden with its voice, and deeds that bring 

The doer shame shall flit in shadows by, 

And sadly whisper what they might have been, 

What worthy deeds they might have done for men, 

When all the squandered past, recalls their guilt, 

The endless future hath no tongue of joy. 

No voice of consolation, whispering peace; 

'Tis then the pall of darkness shall descend, 

Upon their spirits once so gay, and night 

That knows no morning's dawn, close over them. 

And they will sink beneath the wave of life, 

As worthless pebbles sink in ocean's foam. 

But thou! frail watcher by the midnight lamp! 
Whose wasted form, pale cheek, bespeak thy toil. 
Thou! shalt not sink to an ignoble grave! 
The mouldering clods where rests thy weary head. 
Shall be immortal in the eyes of men. 
Each passer by shall point to them and say; 
"There sleeps a noble youth, whose fiery heart, 
And wiry nerve, with cold, and want, and grief, 
And penury, and hunger battled, till he sank 
To sleep without a groan. But ere he died, 
He left upon the scroll of fame his deeds: 
And they shall never die. A nation's tears 
Bedew the turf his dust doth consecrate; 
And high and gifted ones, now mourn his death, 
For he could claim a kindred soul with theirs." 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 51 



I AM DREAMIMG. 

1AM dreaming, often dreaming, 
Of the pleasant days of yore, 
When, the sunlight o'er me beaming. 
And the starlight brightly gleaming, 
Gave all things a blissful seeming. 
Starting, for a far off shore. 
To return — never — never, more. 



I am dreaming, fondly dreaming, 
Oi the friends I knew of yore; 
Youthful friends, of joyful seeming. 
Loving friends, Vvith kindness teeming. 
Faithful friends, of truthful meaning, 
Resting on that unseen shore; 
To return — never — never, more. 



I am* dreaming, hoping dreaming, 

I shall meet those loved of yore; 

When the sunlight o'er me streaming, 

And the starlight softly gleaming, 

O'er my pathway cease their beaming. 

And I reach that blissful shore. 

To return — never — never, more. 



52 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

'Tis eventide; I am nearing, 

Nearing, that once distant shore; 
Which, to reach, with prospects cheering, 
Onward moving, never veering, 
Ardent, hopeful, and unfearing, 
I set out in days of yore; 
To return — never — never, more. 

I am dreaming, fondly dreaming, 

Of the happiness in store, 
In that land with radiance streaming, 
Where glad daylight always beaming, 
Joys are real, not mere seeming, 
When we reach that blissful shore, 
There to dwell forever more. 



COTTON WAS KING. 

COTTON was king, not very long since, 
And ruled all the land like a proud young prince; 
It enacted the laws, and decided each cause. 
Appointed grave judges — *' full of wise saws; " 
It traded and trafficked, it bought and it sold, 
And sought to control both silver and gold. 

This king was a tyrant and despot at heart. 

It bought and sold women and men in the mart; 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 53 

To augment its cash, it wielded the lash, 
Esteeming a toiler the vilest of trash; 
It sought to shackle the hands of the free, 
Proclaiming that workers mere serfs should be. 

The men that were foremost and first in the land, 
Bent the knee to this king, and obeyed its command — 
For the love of high place and the fear of disgrace, 
Had left, of their manhood, scarcely a trace; 
So they bowed the head and bated the breath, 
From fear of the king, and political death. 

This king soon became both haughty and proud, 
Free speech was a crime, and no longer allowed. 
If a brave man stirred, and uttered a word. 
He was slain like a beast or an unclean bird; 
And when he was dead the king's minions came 
To scoff at his grave, and blacken his name. 

The serfs of the king sought to muzzle the press, 
Oft slew its defenders — whose only redress, 
Was a jury and court, with the mob in rapport. 
Where friends of the slain found litde support; 
So justice and vight were oft cloven down, 
And the wronged were driven from city and town. 

If a slave of the king, misused and half fed, 
From the lash of his master ruthlessly fled — 
Bloodhounds were let loose, as men hunt the moose, 
And pistols and shotguns were brought into use; 



54 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 



With pitiless vengeance men followed the track, 
To drag the unarmed fugitive back. 

But, lovers of freedom are fearless and bold. 
No dangers deter them, no fetters can hold; 
When forced to retreat, their pace will be fleet, 
Outspeeding the curs that may follow their feet; 
Escaping from thraldom by peril and toil, 
The swiftest pursuers — full oft — they will foil. 

And such was the case while Cotton was kinq: — 
" A chattel " became like a bird on the wing; 
By the light of a star, it wandered afar, 
Where the Lion of England stood ready for war; 
And hunters and hounds, abashed at the sight. 
Returned to their swamps in dismal affright. 

Then Cotton the King put forth a decree. 

That " Freemen henceforth should slave-catchers be; 

If a slave at the door — faint, weary and sore — 

By hunger impelled, should a morsel implore, 

To give him a crust, should be punished by fine; 

Refusing to capture, should be a grave crime." 

But men of the North were stalwart and strong 

To contend for the right, and war against wTong; 

And they bent not a knee to this royal decree — 

As their owm native air, they would have m.en free; 

At the beck of no king, though his minions might rave, 

Would they stoop to recapture a fugitive slave. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Now Cotton the King, to strengthen its reign, 
Bade slaveholders capture the public domain; 
So with ruffian bands, they invaded the lands, 
Where yeoman were toiling with peaceful hands; 
And the blood-stained corse of father and son, 
By the smouldering cot — told the dire deeds done. 

Then brave hearts were stirred, as the sea in a gale. 
Men gathered from mountain, from hill and from vale; 
They came in their might, a foul wrong to right. 
Well armed, equipped, and prepared for the fight; 
The minions of Cotton were routed and fled — 
The free soil of Kansas now covers the dead. 

The men who fought thus, are men of renown. 
But boldest and bravest was valiant John Brown; 
He was slavery's io^ — no fear did he know — 
Each crack of his rifle a ruffian laid low; 
Yet, as the dread missile sped forth to its goal. 
The old hero uttered a prayer for a soul. 

King Cotton — ahirmed that " the dragon teeth sown," 
Had " become armed men " — then gave forth a groan, 
And the savage host, accustomed to boast, 
Feared the old man Brown, as childhood a ghost; 
For the famie of his exploits spread through the land, 
Like a prairie-grass-fire by the tempest fanned. 

The free soil of Kansas is raided no more — 
The reckless invaders their losses deplore; 



55 



56 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

An incubus rests on slaveholders' breasts, 
Lest men disregard King Cotton's behests; 
And they fear at morn, and dream in the night, 
Of uprising bondmen asserting their right. 

Oft they wake from sleep at the bay of a hound, 
And fancy they hear dusky prowlers around — 
A vindictive band, with bludgeon and brand. 
To slaughter, and burn with remorseless hand; 
They start in affright, rush wildly to arms, 
And find — 'tis a leaf, or the night-wind, alarms. 

Thus fear follows wrong, and dread pursues guilt; 

So terror threats vengeance, where blood hath been spilt; 

When conscious of crime, whatever the clime, 

A culprit feels safe at no place, or time; 

The spectre that haunts him, both early and late, 

Is the doom he deserves and sees doth await. 

Then a few bold men, with John Brown at their head, 

On slaveholding soil attempted a raid. 

No marauders were they to pillage and slay — 

" To revenge fancied wrongs and call it fair play; " 

The down-trodden slaves they sought to set free, 

And give oppressed bondsmen a grand jubilee. 

Some thought the Old Man " was out of his head," 
To attempt such a task with the small band led; 
Not far from a score, seek to open the door, 
Of freedom from bondage — to millions four. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 5^ 

Perhaps they were right — yet the sequel will show 
What potent results from trivial deeds flow. 

With his fearless band, Osawatomie Brown, 
From Maryland hills marched boldly down; 
Though the rain fell fast, and the midnight blast 
Had a dirge-like sound, as they onward passed — 
Harper's Ferry was reached, and taken by storm, 
Ere the rain had ceased on the coming morn. 

The alarm spread wide, the panic was great — 

King Cotton called on Nation and State 

To uphold its reign, and guard its domain, 

Ere a chivalric race, its subjects, were slain; 

For rumor and fear reported a score. 

An army, which numbered a thousand or more. 

Then gathered they there from hillside and glen, 

By scores and by hundreds, their bravest young men — 

But could not put down Osawatomie Brown, 

Who had captured the Ferry, and threatened the town; 

For a night and a day he held them at bay. 

Till a Federal force came and ended the fray. 

Bleeding and wounded, no succor at hand, 

The Old Man surrendered his brave little band — 

Scarce a third of a score when the contest was o'er; 

His foes were a hundred to one — or more; 

The serfs of the king then claimed as their right, 

The prisoners taken by Federal might. 



58 PEBBLES AISD BOULDERS. 

They thrust him In prison with guards stationed round — 
As a Hon they feared him, though fettered and bound; 
With martial array, they hastened the day, 
When slave-holding justice might make him its prey; 
They tried him, and hung him, but could not subdue 
This lover of freedom — bold, honest, and true. 

He held to the last this precept and creed. 
As reason and motive for purpose and deed: 
" That a slave oppressed is a brother distressed. 
Demanding our aid, till the wrong is redressed; 
That the poor and despised are our kith and kin, 
To refuse them aid is a flagrant sin." 

This gospel he taught to layman and priest. 
To all those around him — the greatest and least; 
To jailor and guard, who kept watch and ward. 
Lest he might escape through prison doors barred; 
This gospel he practiced, while God gave him breath, 
And sealed it, at last, by a tragical death. 

This hero and martyr, thus ruthlessly slain. 

The Northern heart stirred from Kansas to Maine; 

Men met to rehearse, in words strong and terse. 

The stigma and crime of the *' Great Southern Curse " 

Which ruled all the land, and fed on the spoil. 

That cruel hands wrung from another's hard toil. 

Their watchwords: "Free Soil, Free Speech, and Free Men, 
Were texts for the tongue, and theme for the pen; 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Unseen was the hand, unknown the command, 
That caused them to form the ' ' Wide Awake ' ' band ; 
But freemen were moved as storm-winds the wave, 
Or the war-drum stirs the heart of the brave. 

They ralhed in town, in city, and state — 
Elected to office, as Chief Magistrate, 
A right royal man, after God's own plan; 
No mere party tool, or chief of a clan, 
A man of the millions — stalwart of frame, 
Abraham Lincoln — immortal in fame. 

When Cotton — the King — and its minions saw 
Its mandates were like to cease to be law; 
That effort was vain its rule to maintain. 
O'er what of late was its northern domain; 
Still having for power and dominion a greed — 
It bade all the slave-holding States secede. 

Then State after State, of reason bereft, 

The strong bond of Union defiantly cleft; 

They seized Southern ports, and captured the forts, 

Forbade the holding of Federal courts; 

And fondly entranced by slavery's charms, 

At the beck of this king rushed madly to arms. 

But the North, though loath to engage in war. 
The Union flag loved, and each golden star — 
And would not consent one fold should be rent. 
Or a star torn out, till its blood was spent; 



59 



6o PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

For treasure and life were of little avail, 
If traitors, in dust, that banner might trail. 

Now down at the South, near a Southern port, 

A Union flag waved o'er a Federal fort; 

And its brave commander would not surrender 

To those who an oath did not remember; 

So they rained on him, cannon shot and shell — 

Those mad fiends of hell — till Fort Sumpter fell. 

The guns aimed at Sumpter echoed afar. 
The roar they sent forth was the tocsin of war; 
The brave defence made, and courage displayed. 
By the patriot few, who fought undismayed — 
Enkindled desire in each loyal heart, 
In the strife begun to take active part. 

At the President's call, by thousands men came, 
Volunteers — ready for war's bloody game; 
They came without pause, to uphold the laws, 
To fight for the flag and the Union cause; 
Men ready to die on the tented field — 
Resolved to conquer, but never to yield. 

Among those that came at their country's call 
Were ' * Wide Awake ' ' companies — one and all 
A disciplined band, with musket in hand, 
Accustomed to march at word of command; 
Each with a knapsack, instead of a cape, 
But powder, with ball, for a torch they take. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 6l 

" Little Giants," too, felt their life-blood stirred, 
When the war-drum beat and that call was heard; 
They sprang to the front, as brave men are wont. 
When called to breast the red battle's brunt; 
With their thorough drill and their martial tread. 
They formed battalions a foeman might dread. 

Then Cotton — the King — amazed at the sight, 
Rallied its minions, and armed for the fight; 
Its subjects were taught how battles are fought; 
Arms and equipments together were brought; 
And fearing its rule might prove to be brief, 
"Jeff Davis " was chosen Commander-in-Chief 

The war that followed was bloody and long. 
King Cotton — a foeman bitter and strong — 
Fought hard to maintain its slave-holding reign, 
To found and uphold its Southern domain — 
Where freedom of speech should never prevail, 
But clanking of chains might float on the gale. 

Oft the " Boys in Blue" and the *' Rebs in Gray," 
Would meet face to face in hostile array. 
On the bloody field where loud cannon pealed, 
And thousands were slain ere either would yield; 
Where tens of thousands were mangled in form 
By the deadly hail of the battle storm. 

But the pluck of the North — to numbers allied; 
Its sinews of war — by wealth supplied; 



62 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Its arts and science, its self reliance, 
That feared not to bid the world defiance; 
Its grit, and muscle, and resolute will — 
No foe could conquer, no power could kill. 

With Sherman and Grant to marshal the men, 
And other great leaders, three score and ten — 
The triumph was won, rebellion put down. 
Proud Cotton — the King — deprived of its crown; 
"Jeff Davis " enchained — every slave set free — 
And Freedom then held a Grand Jubilee. 



Since then rapid years o'er mortals have rolled, 
The deeds of the past have often been told; 
King Cotton laid l«^w entombed long ago. 
Hath no mourner left, from great overthrow; 
"Jeff Davis " — late chief— relieved of his chain, 
Now sleeps in the grave, where silence doth reign. 

Now let us rejoice that freedom prevails, 
With all the great gifts its presence entails; 
The soul of John Brown, with Lincoln looks down 
On millions set free, whom rich blessings crown; 
All the patriot dead, could they lift up their voice. 
O'er King Cotton's fall would bid earth rejoice. 

The old starry flag still kisses the breeze. 

It floats from our forts, o'er lakes and o'er seas; 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 63 

Its stars are all there, not one could we spare, 

Not a stripe from its folds could secession tear; 

That banner we love — will guard with our lives, 

As men guard their homes, their children, their wives. 



I LOVE THIS GRAND OLD WORLD. 

or: a hymn to the creator. 

I LOVE this grand old world. Why should I not ? 
God made it all, and He pronounced it good; 
On its broad surface He hath cast my lot, 
Its fertile fields now farnish me with food. 

It hath extensive plains and ilowery meads, 

Where flocks and herds in joyful freedom roam; 

Where lavish nature with rich verdure feeds. 
Whatever plants, herself, or man hath sowm. 

It hath its hills with beauteous vales between, 
Where stately trees and leafy shrubs may grow; 

Where feathered songsters build their nests unseen. 
And founts start forth to moisten plains below. 

High mountain peaks it hath, around whose base, 
The mists of early dawn encircling cling; 

Whose silvery veil, the beams of mom displace, 
And forth to view their massive g'randeur bring-. 



64 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

It hath its rippling rills and purling brooks, 
That form broad rivers, with perpetual flow; 

Which lave the lowlands with meandering crooks. 
As forward on their destined course they go. 

Great lakes it hath that regions wide surround, 
And these are fed by streams that never fail; 

That pour their waters into depths profound. 

O'er which full many a white- winged ship may sail. 

It hath vast oceans, boundless and sublime, 
Whose briny deeps extend to either pole; 

Whose billows onward move from clime to clime, 
Unfettered — restless, as the human soul. 

Vast continents it hath and sea-girt isles. 

Against whose shores the angry surges beat; 

In calm or storm, though nature frowns or smiles, 
Those shores stand fast, and all their fury meet. 

Its massive continents, so broad and wide, 

Have many a mountain, hill, and dale, and plain; 

Their rock-bound coasts, the ocean waves have tried 
For ages past, to overcome, in vain. 

It hath its golden sun to rule the day, 

The moon and twinkling stars to cheer the night; 

While changing seasons their grand drama play, 
As years glide onward in their ceaseless flight. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 65 

Earth teems with beauty, hfe and happiness, 
And o'er its splendor man is placed supreme; 

Its all-controlling lord, that these might bless 
Him, far beyond his fondest hope or dream. 

I love the world. An Architect divine, 

Hath fashioned it, and peopling sea and land 

With living wonders, bade the light to shine, 
That man might see and recognize His hand. 

Who would not love a world so grandly made, 
On whose adornment wondrous skill is shown ? 

Through all its parts such wisdom is displayed. 
As serves to make its great Creator known. 

Who hates the world must its Creator hate; 

Who loves it rightly, will its Maker love. 
Will worship One so good, and wise, and great, 

And seek to meet Him in that home above. 

If man should such a world as this despise, 
What architect shall build for him a home ? 

What lovely landscape charm his leaden eyes. 
Were he throughout the universe to roam ? 

God loves this world, and all that it contains. 
Whatever swims, or creeps, or walks, or flies; 

He loves its mountains, hills, and dales, and plains, 
He hears the raven, when for food it cries. 



66 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS, 

Why, then, refuse to love this world of ours, 
So beautiful and grand in all its parts; 

So filled with life, with song of birds with flowers, 
Entitling it to love from grateful hearts ? 



AN ODE TO TIME. 

TIME is wisest and the strongest, 
Empires crumble 'neath its power, 
Things which stand and last the longest, 
Soon approach their final hour. 

Time is swiftest, always flying, 
Lightnings ruffle not its crest. 

Sure as doom to him that's dying, 
Kings and kingdoms are not left. 

Time is onward always moving, 

Each moment treads a moment's heel; 

Sweeping from us all we' re loving 
Decay enstamping with its seal. 

Time is stillest — silent ever 

Echo catches not its tread; 
Noiseless, waveless, ruffled never 

Still as the grave where sleep the dead. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 67 

Time! O! hear me! give me wisdom, 

Teach me all I need to know; 
For when taught by thee, there is none 

Found that's wiser here below. 



THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 



WHAT careth the world for a man when dead, 
When his breath is gone, the spirit hath fled ? 
Though his form, before, was comely and fair, 
'Tis hurried away, lest it taint the air; 
The vacancy left, another can fill. 
And the world moves on, at the same pace still. 
The restless mass goes dashing along, 
And who will miss him amid such a throng ? 
Though once the foremost of all in the race. 
He had won for himself the loftiest place. 
Though noble and grand is the work of his hand. 
Performed for his own or a foreign land: 
Though his fame spread wide, and his namiC be great. 
From ruling a realm, or forming a state. 
What careth the crowd for his senseless clay ? 
The lion is dead: he hath had his day. 
So they hasten to lay his corse away 
From the sight of men and the world is gay. 



68 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

II. 

What careth his kinsmen, daughter or son, 

Provided they clutch the gold he hath won 

From trade, or by toil hath wrung from the soil. 

Which, now he is dead, is legitimate spoil 

To be seized by his heirs, as their legal right, 

The moment the clods conceal him from sight. 

Their grief at his loss, aside from pretence, 

Can mainly be reckoned in dollars and cents; 

They deeply deplore — he did not leave more 

Of silver and gold, for them laid in store. 

Though mourners, they drape — in costliest crape — 

Have burial service — with plenty of tape — 

Though his fame spread wide, and his name be great, 

From ruling a realm, or founding a state, 

But little care they, for his worthless clay! 

The lion is dead; he hath had his day. 

So they hasten to lay his corse away 

From the sight of men, then laugh, and are gay. 

III. 

Yet, men of the world will labor to win 
Great wealth for their heirs, and next of kin; 
From the dawn of day to the set of sun, 
And oft till the noon of night comes on, 
They will toil, and drudge, and traffic, and trade, 
Will blast in the mines, or delve with the spade. 
Will peril their health and lavish their time, 
And worry and pinch, for a dollar or dime. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 69 

And fancy they make their Hves sublime 
By hoarding up gold, if, when they are old, 
And their funeral knell is about being tolled, 
They have stocks and bonds, by heirs to be sold. 
They will strive for place, and struggle for fame, 
That when they are dead, they may leave a name 
Ennobling their kinsmen, and making them great, 
Fit leaders to found or govern a state; 
But their kinsmen, they, are born to decay, 
And soon pass away from the light of day. 

IV. 

What careth the world ? There are those who care: 

Friends who are friends will gather there; 

They will grieve for one, so noble and true, 

Who kept the good of mankind in view, 

Who was honest in deal every day in the week. 

Who was open and frank and the truth would speak, 

Though it lost him the cause he was striving to win, 

Who was firm as a rock, when tempted to sin. 

Who was kind to his friends, his children and wife. 

And sought to make peace wherever was strife. 

They will think of the generous deeds he hath done, 

Of the meed of praise he hath nobly won. 

They will feel as they gaze on his cold, pale face, 

That the world hath none who can fill his place 

And will grieve to think the grave must hold, 

A form that was cast in so kingly a mold. 

Their tears will be shed at the grave of the dead, 

They will think of him oft when long years have sped. 



70 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 



RETROSPECT. 

PEERING through the misty past, 
Standing on hfe's crumbHng shore, 
Near an ocean wide and vast, 

Which no mortal can explore; 
Oft in sunlight and in storms. 

As my feelings ebb and flow, 
Comes before me shadowy forms, 
Of the loved of long ago. 

Oft they gather, as of yore, 

Youthful forms I knew of old, 
Joy and transport they restore, 

All my years are backward rolled; 
And I seem in boyhood's prime, 

When the world was gay with flowers, 
And our happy hearts kept time. 

With the song-birds in the bowers. 

Youthful forms before me rise, 

Rosy cheeks once more appear, 
Gladsome smiles and laughing eyes, 

Greet me with their old time cheer: 
Then I mingle with the throng, 

Feel I am a lad once more, 
Lithe of limb, and young and strong, 

As in distant days of yore. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 71 

There I see the fairy form, 

Of each girl we loved so well; 
When, our hearts were )'Oung and warm. 

Beauty wove its magic spell; 
Others sought and won their hands. 

Far away my lot was cast. 
Still I see those merry bands, 

Smiling through the misty past. 

All those youthful forms have gone, 

Many to their last repose, 
Some are wrinkled gray and worn. 

Cheeks have lost the hue of rose; 
I am feeble, old, and gray. 

Life with me will soon be done. 
Yet, the scenes of childhood's play, 

Come again with set of sun. 



72 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

IMMORTALITY. 

" IF A MAN DIE SHALL HE LIVE AGAIN." 

WHO would not live, when he hath laid aside 
This mortal form that doth imprison all ? 
Who would not wish to rise and soar away, 
As doth the Phoenix from its worthless ash. 
When fell disease hath palsied eye and ear, 
Hath stilled the tireless pulsings of the heart, 
And stopped the circling currents of the blood, 
The busy fingers locked in iron bands 
And sent the lifeless body back to dust ? 

Can man be mortal and immortal too ? 
Doth death deprive the thoughtful soul of life ? 
Doth age and sickness — or decay and death 
Destroy the soul, enthroned within, that doth 
Defy their power and smile at their approach ? 

Each particle of matter still exists, 
Whatever part it plays, or form assumes. 
While blown about by every wind of chance; 
Shall, then, the soul — the nobler part of man — 
That makes him God-like in his thoughts and acts, 
Be doomed to non-existence, at the last ? 
Doth providental nature most regard 
The outward husk around the kernel thrown, 
The chaff that doth the precious seed enclose, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 73 

And lavish all her guardian care on these — 
Yet disregard the object they protect ? 

When man hath grown mature in soul and mind, 
And high and noble aspirations prompt 
To worthy deeds to benefit mankind; 
When thoughts are uttered which the world admire, 
And words are spoken which shall never die, 
Shall that within which doth accomplish this, 
Be left to moulder in the tomb's embrace — 
Decay beneath the clods that cover it ? 
Shall mind and soul enrich the earthly soil 
That rests above it, when the body dies ? 
Can these commingle with the dregs of earth, 
And from existence thus be blotted out; 
Or, what is worse, become a senseless clod, 
Destined to aid the growth of weeds and plants 
For beasts to feed upon or trample down ? 
Say you that matter forms the living soul ? 
If matter formed its essence while in life, 
At death the substance formed would still remain. 
Dissect the body; seek its form and shape. 
Where rest the relics of the soul at death. 
Where sleeps its corse when life becomes extinct ? 
What skillful hand hath by dissection found 
The soul's remains, — the frame-work of its life ? 
Can alchemist, or chemist tell us where 
Its body lies concealed from mortal view ? 
Can they — by analytic skill — reveal 
Its form and substance — its material parts, 
And tell of what ingredients composed ? 



74 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Bid them disclose what earthy matter forms 

The memory of man — that doth in age 

Recall the scenes of childhood's sportive hours. 

Can carbon — oxygen — or nitrogen, 

Or all of these combined, recall the past, 

Or treasure great events for future use ? 

What substance forms the stubborn human will ? 

Is it of steel — that bends — but never breaks ? 

Hath each and every faculty of mind, 

A diverse substance for its form and use ? 

If not — whence come the various powers possessed ? 

Can matter think— reflect— resolve— perform ? 

And can it speak — compute — invent — construct ? 

Hath it the power to reason— judge- -decide? 

Can it erect a palace — or a tower — 

Fashion and form the massive ships that bear 

Their human freight across the boist'rous wave; — 

Or build the steamboat, which with giant strength 

Doth hurl the billows from its daring prow. 

And, like a living monster, plow the deep ? 

Can matter form the telescope, and read 

The secrets of the stars that shine at eve; — 

Construct the microscope, that brings to light 

The swarming myriads, that escape the eye 

Of man, unaided by its wondrous power ? 

Can it control the lightning— guide its course — 

Cause it to furnish light for man's abode — 

Make this blind Samson turn a wheel or mill— 

Or drag a train upon the iron track — 

Send it, the herald of its messages, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 75 

In peace oi; war, across a stormy sea, 
To some fiir distant port, unterrified, 
And unobstructed by the watery waste, 
And all the lurking monsters of the deep ? 

If matter can produce these grand results, 
As many sage materialists assert, 
How efficacious are its faculties! 
How great and strangely wonderful its powers ! 
What vast resources lurk beneath a clod ! 
Its marvelous achievements how sublime! 

Since it creates and forms the human mind. 
Imbues it with intelligence and thought. 
Confers on man this wondrous working power, 
Gives him ability to judge, invent, and act — 
Enabling him to span the universe, — 
The dust of earth must truly be divine. 
If this be true, with rapture we exclaim, 
*' All Hail! O, Dust! Creator of the soul! 
" Potential Clod! How powerful thou art! 
" Man owes a debt of gratitude to thee, 
" For all things worthy of his chief regard! 
" Thou art O, Dust! the author of his life! 
" The human soul is but a clod of earth, 
" Its aspirations come from earth and dust. 
' ' They cease forever when the body dies, 
" For thou dost then afford no further aid." 

But let us pause — reflect — and question this. 
If knowledge doth reside in senseless clods. 
And matter thus can think, and know and act — • 
Why doth it keep so quiet when at rest ? 



76 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

When set in motion by external force, 

Why stop, and move not, when that force is spent ? 

Where sleeps this great ability to act ? 

Where doth it hide its vast intelligence ? 

Where doth it store those hidden faculties 

It doth bestow upon the mind of man ? 

Ask of the dust and clods to tell us where. 

They make us no reply. We ask in vain. 

Let these material prophets call their god; — 

Bid him come forth — exhibit all his powers, 

And prove himself a living deity! 

Vain task ! The call is vain ! Crude matter hath 
No life, no soul and no intelligence! 
Intelligence is from a higher source, 
Hath worthier origin than clods of earth. 
It doth not form an attribute of dust. 
Can dust impart what it can ne'er possess ? 
It hath no soul and hence hath none to give. 
A world of matter could not form a soul. 
Since earth and dust possess no attribute 
That doth pertain to mind, or soul, or life — 
A soul composed of these would have no thought, 
No power to reason, judge, reflect, perform — 
But would remain, and be, dead matter still. 

A shrub or tree hath life; crude matter none. 
Deprived of life, the shrub and tree decay; 
And yet, for some brief space, the form remains. 
A field of matter could not form a tree, 
Unaided by a germ or seed with life 
Enclosed therein. It might assist its growth, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 77 

But could not vitalize the smallest shrub. 
Since clods can not impart a phase of life 
To tree or shrub, they could not form a soul, 
For that hath more than mere vitality. 

When animals and plants decay and die, 
The life they once possessed, no longer theirs — 
Is not imparted to insensate clods. 
Which fatten on the fruits of their demise. 
The soil receives the sustenance it gave; 
But not the life; for it had none to give. 

Since matter hath no life, nor source of life — 
The mind of man, this higher life, the soul — 
Which towers above all other forms of life, 
As mountain peaks above a grain of sand, 
Is not a creature born of earth, a clod, 
Destined to perish when the body dies. 
The soul doth still retain its God-like powers. 
Although the mangled body, racked with pain, 
In ghastly ruin lies. This were not so, 
If when the body dies the soul expires. 

The soul and body are in such accord. 
That when a member suffers injury. 
The soul is pained, — and taking cognizance 
Of what is done, strives to remove the cause. 
Were this not so, the soul itself would lose 
The power of acting through the injured part. 
The soul, and not the body, feels the pain. 
The eye may aid the sight — yet doth not see. 
The ear assists the hearing — but hears not. 
The hands may aid in feeling — yet feel not. 



yS PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

It is the soul behind the eye — and ear, 
Which sends its messengers to finger tips 
To bring report, that sees, and hears, and feels. 
When it departs, the senses cease to act; 
The eye no longer sees, the ear hears not; 
The cold and lifeless fingers cease to feel; 
No attribute of Life or sense remains. 

The soul and body, while in unison — 
Become so bound together, that the soul 
Is oft averse to leave its frail abode. 
And clings tenacious, 'till compelled to go; — 
Then casts a longing, lingering look behind. 
Death separates the body from the soul, 
When it becomes unfitted for its use. 
And proves rebellious to the soul's command. 

Since, then, the soul is immaterial, 
And hath no substance which decay can reach — 
No matter for disease to prey upon — 
No channel open for approach of death — 
And thus stands forth impervious to assaults 
Of that destroyer of corporeal life — 
It follows, that the soul can never die. 
And must, by nature, have immortal life. 

If this be true — and who can doubt its truth — 
How complicate and wonderful is man ! 
By nature mortal — yet immortal too! 
His body excellent in mechanism, 
• Comely and beautiful in all its parts, 
Watchful custodian of mind and thought, 
Helpful assistant of each outward act, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 79 

An intricate machine, formed to construct 
What'er its owner may invent or plan! 
A palace — built for royal residence — 
And its inhabitant — the human soul! 
A body formed of earthy particles, 
Destined at last to crumble back to dust! 
A deathless soul confined and held in check, 
By that which doth decay and suffer death! 
Man's outward form reveals a master's hand, 
And challenges our wonder and surprise. 
Its plan, beyond conception, intricate — 
Its various parts so perfect and complete 
As to achieve a grand harmonious whole. 

Yet far more intricate the princely soul. 
That sits enthroned within this fleshly form, 
And marshals every muscle, fibre, nerve 
And joint, to work its will and move the world. 
A soul possessed of infinite desires, 
And capabilities for good or ill; 
Gathering strength from each exertion made; 
Treasuring knowledge as the years pass on; 
Ever expanding as the ages roll; 
Destined to live when time shall be no more; 
Its destiny a web itself must weave. 
While compassed round by its clay tenement, 
But soon to wing its unseen flight from earth, 
And dust, whither no mortal can descry. 

Its present bondage aids developement, 
Keeps it from roaming far and wide, 
Where fickle fancy doth her castles build. 



8o PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

It checks wild thoughts, that wander up and down 
From scenes at hand, that should engage its care. 
To those remote and far beyond its reach. 
Man's outward form thus disciplines the soul, 
Confines its energies within just bounds. 
Compels regard for present scenes and wants, 
Gives perseverance, virtue, strength of will; 
And thus prepares it for a better clime. 

The soul and body, each so complicate 
And wonderful, unite in forming man. 
How passing strange and marvelous his make! 
A soul immortal clothed with flesh and blood! 
His mortal part a miracle of skill, 
So complex none can fully comprehend; 
So intimate its union with the soul. 
That heedless tongues have oft pronounced them one. 
And yet this outward form is but the garb, 
That clothes the royal personage within. 
Which well might look upon the vesture worn. 
As doth a king upon a beggar's rags. 

But some will say: " That when the body dies 
" Our cognizance of mind and soul doth cease. 
"That since we can no longer list its voice, 
'* Or witness acts denoting it hath life, 
''We must conclude it doth not still survive." 

We answer such; pray tell us, if you can. 
How can it die ? What pangs can reach the soul, 
Destroy its life and cause it to expire ? 
Can mind e'er cease to think, reflect and act? 
Though voicing not its thoughts — may it not think ? 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 8 1 

Reflection might be called man's voiceless thought; 

And during life how often men reflect. 

In sleep because no act denotes its life, 

Shall we conclude the soul hath ceased to live ? 

Full oft it manifests itself in dreams. 

While in the body, who hath seen a soul ? 
Without the body what is there to see ? 
Were mind material, it might be seen. 
While wandering forth to some far distant spot. 
Because invisible must it be dead ? 
A thousand things invisible have Hfe. 
The vital air we breathe exists unseen. 
The life of trees and shrubs concealed, exists. 
Its form and substance, its integral parts, 
No microscopic search hath e'er revealed. 
Attraction holding worlds in compact form, 
And chaining them to their allotted round, 
With tireless force — no human eye hath seen, 
Yet none can question its stupendous power. 
Cohesion is a power that doth exist. 
Yet its concealed existence none can trace. 
So chemical attraction oft compels 
The unison of divers substances. 
Which do not seem to have the least accord. 
Though its effects are often seen and known, 
No human eye hath seen the thing itself. 

Invisible existence doth confront 
Mankind on every side and everywhere. 
Why then conclude the soul is dead, because 
It is invisible to human eyes, 



82 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

And none can see it when the body dies ? 
The eagle with his tireless pinions, soars 
In upper air, and disappears from sight; 
Yet still exists, and stoops at night to rest 
Upon his mountain crag. The lightning, though 
It be concealed within the darkest cloud. 
That bears it o'er the earth, doth still exist, 
May light the cloud and utter forth its voice. 
The sunlight, when it disappears at eve. 
Behind the western hills and darkness reigns, — 
Is not extinguished though our homes are dark. 
It goes to carry morn to other lands. 
But will return and bring us morn again. 
And thus the incorporeal soul of man 
Set free from bonds, and earth's attractive force, 
May soar unseen beyond the eagle's flight; 
Or float, concealed on atmospheric clouds, 
Around the world, it once inhabited. 
All eyes and ears to learn the good or ill 
It hath accomplished in its mortal form, 
There to remain until the call of doom; 
Or, like the sunlight, when it fades at eve. 
And misty darkness shrouds our saddened homes, 
It may have gone to gladden other lands, 
And carry light and joy to other hearts, 
And other homes, where sainted spirits dwell, 
And watch and wait to welcome its approach. 
It still exists and will return again 
And bring a brighter morn — more blissful day. 
To those who grieve o'er its departure hence. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 83 

Decay and death may cause this outward form 
To moulder back to earth from whence it came. 
They kindly brush aside the gathered dust, 
That rests upon the pinions of the soul, 
And set it free to soar beyond our sight, 
To seek in other realms, congenial climes, 
Where kindred spirits shall forever dwell. 
For some brief space, it may delay its flight, 
And Hnger near the haunts it loved of old, 
To greet and comfort friends in pleasant dreams; 
But soon will wing its rapid flight away. 
Exulting in the freedom thus obtained. 
Rejoicing in its immortality, 
Which now it feels — -reality achieved. 



THE BRAVE ONLY WIN. 

IN the battle of life, 'tis the brave only win. 
While the coward in heart and craven in mind. 
Either fall in the strife, or frightened by din. 
Abandon the field, and the foe leave behind. 

For the brave, there is glory, and laurels in store, 
For the coward, contempt and disgrace are in view; 

Shall we battle like brave men the foe evermore. 
Be coward in heart, — or be noble and true ? 



84 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

All the young, who are strong, and have hope in the heart, 
If they strive they will conquer whoever may fail; 

For the foe loves the feeble and timid to start. 

While those who have courage are girded in mail. 

Let the aged fight on as never before, 

For the battle they wage, soon comes to a close; 

The victory won, — shall last evermore. 
And the warrior shall win eternal repose. 

There are heroes in war, and heroes in peace, 
But the heroes in peace are the grandest of all, 

Their conflict for right with life only doth cease, 
And the warfare they wage is at duty's high call. 

In the battle of life let us strive for the right, 
Regardless how many fierce foes may assail; 

With duty for watchword, — and courage to fight, 
And God on our side, we never can fail. 



THE AGED FIFER. 

1CAN see him now, as I saw him then, 
When I was a lad and my years but ten; 
Though the years have sped and my beard is gray, 
I can see him now as I did that day. 
That aged miller, whose locks thin and white, 
Were fanned by a breeze that was cool and light, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 85 

At the eventide of a summer's day, 

When the old grist-mill had ceased its play, 

And the over-shot wheel no longer rolled round, 

With a splash of water and rumbling sound, 

When the King of day with shining vest. 

Behind the green hills retiring to rest, 

Cast a golden gleam o'er the sky's deep blue. 

As he bade the world an evening adieu. 

Then came he forth from that old brown mill, 
That stood by the race that ran down the hill. 
With his ruddy cheeks, and look serene. 
His full round chest, and his martial mien, 
Though his garb was white from flour and dust, 
He looked like a man a nation could trust. 

The music he loved, and had from a boy, 
Was the shrill toned fife, his solace and joy; 
And he played it still, at the close of day, 
When the old mill ceased its jarring play, 
Its whirring around, with a rumbling sound, 
While many a grist for neighbors was ground. 

In " Seventy six " with his fife in hand. 
Then a lad, he joined the patriot band. 
Who periled their lives that this might be. 
From thenceforth called " the land of the free." 
Though then too young to take up arms. 
He sought a place 'mid war's alarms; 
The thicker the bullets around him flew, 
The louder his shrill-toned fife he blew, 
And its piercing tones gave the patriots cheer, 
For the fifer showed no signs of fear, 



86 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

And that fife was heard on the left and right, 
Wherever occurred the thickest fight. 
The war was a long and a weary one, 
But it ceased at last, when freedom was won; 
And the lad, a youth, unharmed went home, 
But clung to his fife where'er he might roam. 

In the war with England which next occurred. 
That warlike fife at the front was heard, 
He marched at the head of a martial band, 
That played for the men who fought for the land. 
Warhke and stirring were the tunes he played, 
When battalions stood, in battle arrayed; 
Sad and mournful were its notes for the dead, 
When a comrade's tears for the slain were shed. 

He went through the war with never a wound, 
Became a miller, and many grists ground; 
Yet still played the fife, and at close of day, 
In front of the mill, would stand and play; 
And I can see him now, as I saw him then. 
When I was a lad, and my years but ten; 
Though the years have sped and my beard is gray, 
I can see him now, as I did that day; 
That aged fifer, with locks thin and white. 
Blown back by the breeze that was cool and light. 
And the tune he played was a dirge for the brave. 
It was called, he said: " Napoleon's Grave; " 
So mournful the notes that they touched my heart, 
And he played them too with such magic art. 
That I saw before me a great man dead, 
Who had lately stood at a nation's head, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 87 

A soldier of fortune, who had won great renown, 
A coffined hero, who late wore a crown, 
Who fought great battles, his last battle o'er, 
And monarchs shall dread his frown nevermore. 
An august warrior, both mighty and brave, 
About to be laid in the cold, damp grave; 
And I saw them place the turf o'er his head, 
As they laid him to rest in his lonely bed, 
On a rocky isle, where the sobbing surge. 
And the wind's sad wail are his only dirge. 



The musical notes of that tuneful hfe, 

Oft heard by the brave in the battle strife. 

No longer are heard in front of the mill, 

They have ceased long since, youthful ears to thrill, 

For that mill is gone, it hath passed away, 

The tooth of time hath wrought its decay; 

And grists at the mill no longer are tolled, 

By that robust miller, — so brave and bold. 

At fourscore and ten the good man died. 

They laid him to rest, — his fife by his side, 

For he loved it still, with his latest breath, 

And they parted them not, in sable death. 

A plain marble slab now marks the place; 

A worthier monument ought to grace. 



8S PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 



A TEMPERANCE ODE. 

IF your comrades gather round you, 
At the festive board or bar, 
And with jests, and jeers confound you, 
Urging you with wordy war, 

A glass to take, for friendships sake, 
Just tell them ^'wo)'/" and come away. 

When their glasses they are clinking, 

Where intoxicants are sold, 
If you think what they are drinking. 
Silver pays for — or their gold ; 

Just wait and see — 'twixt you and me, 
If this were all — the cost were small. 

If your blood has ne'er been tainted, 
By the drunkard's poisonous cup, 
If your cheek has ne'er been painted, 
By what burns your manhood up; 

Just pause and think, before you drink. 
What deadly drug, fills glass and mug. 

If you value reputation. 

Freedom — manhood — health — or life — 
If you dislike degradation 

Of your children — self or wife; — 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Abjure the bowl — have self control — 
Live, work — and plan — a sober man. 

By the hopes you have of heaven, 

By all earthly ties that bind, 
As you wish to be forgiven, 

When you leave this world behind; 
Resolve no more, to taste or pour, 
Strong drink, or wine, both serpentine. 



89 



JAMIE AND MARY OR COURTSHIP 
AND FAMILY JARS. 

THE hair of the fair was a golden yellow, 
While his was a fiery re3; 
When spring-time came their hearts grew mellow, 

For both were wishing to wed. 
Says Jamie to Mary: " Ye' ere swate as a posy; " 

Says she: " Ye' ere true as a book; " 
Says he: " Yer chakes are rid and rosy; " 

Says she: " Ye've an illigant look." 
Says he: " Yer eyes always smile whin ye frown. 

And yer lips are a song unsung; " 
Says she: " Ye' ere the loikliest lad in town. 

And a very foine brogue hath yer tongue." 



90 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Says he: " Ye' ere the gurl I saw in me drame, 

As I lay on my cot at night; 
And niver at all did I think to have sane, 

So fair a young gurl to me sight." 
Says she: " Ye' ere words are loike swate honey dew, 

As they drop from yer tongue on the ear; 
They same to me heart both honest and true, 

Its only their sasing I fear." 
Says he: "Wad ye go wid me to the praste? 

He will make the twain of us one." 
Says she: '' Objection I have not the laste; " 

They went and their courtship was done. 
Together they Hved a month and a day, 

United in all of their plans; 
Some little dispute, one morning had they, 

And ceased to be peaceful as lambs. 
'* Ye' ere the very wurst mon that iver I saw; " 

Said she to her dear loving lord: 
" I value ye' ere loikes much less than a straw, 

Ye niver can spake a good word. ' ' 
Said he: ** Bod luck to the day whin we met, 

Far better for me were I hung; 
For niver ye cease to scold and to fret, 

And a very sharp tooth hath yer tongue." 
Said she: *' Thin go and be hanged if ye will, 

Its niver at all will I grave. 
The bist words that iver ye spake, would kill; 

They have kilt me now I belave." 
Hot tears in a stream adown her cheeks rolled 

She uttered a heart broken cry; 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Then Jamie her form in his arms did enfold, 

He too, had a tear in each eye. 
Says Jamie: " We both are in fault me dare, 

Sure meself was the most in wrong; 
Lets kiss and be frinds and banish each tare. 

And thin ye shall sing me a song. ' ' 
Then she sang him a song, so sweet to his ear. 

He fancied an angel was there; 
And hoped it would tarry for many a year. 

An angel so charming and fair. 
Thenceforth they lived happy, with never a jar, 

Nor a quarrel their whole lives long; 
For if aught went wrong, without wordy war, 

He would ask her to sing him a song. 
Then she sang such songs as true lovers sing, 

When the heart and the voice are one, 
And the songs she sung, never failed to bring, 
The angel of peace to that home. 



OLD FATHER TIME AND DAME NATURE, 

A COLLOQUY. 

OLD Father Time — one morning spoke, 
To Good Dame Nature— when first she woke; 
" Why paint you the flowers in colors so fair. 
That fade so soon in the fragrant air ? 
Why clothe with beauty and gaudy array 
Blossoms so fragile— so soon to decay ? 



91 



92 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Why scatter so lavishly over the land, 
The exquisite work of your skillful hand ? 
They may drink at eve of the crystal dew, 
That falls unseen from the sky's deep blue. 
Which sparkles at morn, like a costly gem, 
That graces some royal diadem, — 
Yet the mid-day sun — the dew will drink up. 
From their painted lips — their mouth and cup; 
And some will droop, in the sun's hot ray. 
The strongest, soon wither and fade away. 
They vanish from sight and are seen no more, 
Their loveliness lost with none to restore." 

With a smile on her lip, Dame Nature replied; 
'* To do my best — I always have tried; 
Whether long or short my work may last, 
To perform it well — I deem my task. 
To clothe with beauty God's fair domain, 
Bright flowers I strew over hill and plain. 
For, He loves beauty, and gave it birth. 
And bade me scatter it over the earth. 
So, I paint the flowers, and color the grass. 
As season on seasons swiftly pass; 
And seek to adorn both flower and leaf. 
Though its life be short — its duration brief; 
That flowers when seen may gladden the eye, 
Though they bloom at morn, and at eve may die. 
* His all seeing eye,' sees the loveliest flower, 
That blossoms — to fade in one brief hour. 
The sun's bright ray, serves both to illume. 
And draw from the flower its sweetest perfume. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

God scatters the dew from chambers above, 
The perfume shed — betokens His love; 
His breath is felt in the balmy air, 
His smile is seen in the landscape fair, 
His music is heard, in the song of the bird, 
In the waving trees, whose branches are stirred, 
By the breeze of morn;— in the laughing brook, 
Which ripples along with meandering crook, 
O'er its pebbly path— to the river wide, 
That carries it forth to the ocean's tide. 
His goodness is felt in the summer shower; 
The changing seasons proclaim His power, 
His voice, when heard, 'is a still small voice,' 
Winning the soul — bidding earth rejoice. 
The task I perform — my time doth beguile. 
While I do His will— seek to merit His smile." 



THE LONG AGO. 

THE shadowy land of Long Ago, 
Is a floating island moving away, 
From the present drifdng day by day. 
Floating and drifdng — yet moving slow, 
Widi the current of time on its backward flow; 
For time moves forward and backward too. 
On its onward current there is great ado, 
For diverse phantoms mankind pursue, 



93 



94 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

And oft commingle the false, with the true. 

But the backward current is cold and chill, 
The flow of its waters is smooth and still, 
For the dead are there on that island's breast. 
As they drift along how calmly they rest! 
Their strife is o'er — they are sailing slow, 
On the beautiful island of Long Ago. 

That isle and the present were side by side, 
But the distance now is far and wide; 
And whether we wake, or whether we sleep, 
That distance still widens over the deep. 
That island is laden with hopes and fears, 
The dew on its soil, is the numberless tears, 
That were shed for those we loved so well. 
Whose memory now is a magical spell, 
That lingers still, though our eyes we close 
On life's busy scenes — when we seek repose. 

For the past though distant from us and far, 
For our sleep and dreams, leaves the gates ajar, 
And oft in our dreams we enter in. 
And walk in the paths where our feet have been, 
And mingle with those beloved before. 
The joyous friends of the day of yore. 
Then we wake to find the blissful scene. 
Is but a fading, transient dream; 
Yet oft, our waking thoughts will go. 
To the beautiful island of Long Ago. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 95 



LINES ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER. 

SHE hath gone— she hath gone— the youngest and best, 
And the cold, damp earth on her young heart pressed. 
Can not be more chill, than the grief we feel, 
Like ice o'er the wave — through our bosoms steal; 
Though our tears may fall, like the autumn rain. 
They will fail to bring her to earth again; 
For her spirit hath gone to a brighter home, 
We must seek her there; but where'er we roam, 
We shall miss her form; till the heart grows cold. 
It will yearn for her whom we knew of old. 

She has gone— she has gone—we shall meet no more. 
Her welcoming smile at a father's door, 
With a dirobbing heart— we may list to catch, 
One tone of her voice— ere we lift the latch ; 
But that voice is hushed, not a sound will greet, 
The listn'ing ear from her hurrying feet; 
When we enter there— we shalllook to find- 
But in vain — her eye — with its glance of mind; 
For its light is quenched— till the heart is cold, 
It will yearn for the loved, it knew of old. 

She has gone— she died— and in twilights gloom, 
We shall seek her oft, in each vacant room, 



96 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

And the eye will gaze, when the lamp is lit, 

On the vacant chair where she used to sit, 

And fancy will picture her form still there, 

With her broad, high brow and her dark brown hair, 

With her large, dark eye and her full round cheek, 

And the lips half open, as if to speak; 

Then the spell will vanish and the heart grow cold, 

As it yearns for the form, it knew of old. 

She has gone — gone home — and an aged pair. 

All alone will bow at the hour of prayer; 

Their furrowed cheeks will grow moist with tears, 

As they think of the rapid flight of years. 

Of their childhood's joys — their youth full of Hfe, 

Of their middle age, with its sterner strife; 

But more thick and fast, will their tear drops fall, 

As that much loved form their thoughts shall recall; 

They will miss her most; till each heart grows cold, 

It will mourn for the one who was loved of old. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 97 



EVENING REFLECTIONS. LIFE AND 
IMMORTALITY. 

'T^IS eve. The gloomy clouds now settle down 

1 O'er all life's busy scenes. The weary crowd 
Rejoice at sight of eve — and thoughts of rest. 
I, — too, have felt the weight of weariness, 
That — like the clouds of night, no human hand 
Hath power to stay. And yet, I seek no rest; 
For mine is not the weariness which night 
With its deep shade — or slumber can assuage. 
It comes at morn and wraps me in its shroud, 
As o'er the mountain's brow the storm doth fling 
Its pall of blackness which no eye can pierce; 
It comes at mid-day — as deep darkness came 
O'er Egypt, when the Hebrew's wand was waved; 
It comes at midnight — and the stars go out, 
And cease to flash and twinkle in the sky — 
And night hath gloomier shadows on her brow. 

In silent chamber — where no sound is heard — 
Or, in lone woods — where no leaf doth stir, 
In halls of revelry — where throng the gay — 
In crowded street — the busy mart of trade — 
On rugged mountain-top — on ocean's shore — 
At midnight — early morn — or noon, or eve — 
I feel its cumbrous weight upon my brow, 



98 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Its unseen form doth o'er my spirit brood, 
Till all the world — its struggles — toils and strifes — 
Its ceaseless conflicts for a name — doth seem 
The outlines of a hideous dream, which sleep 
Oft conjures up for him, who sinks to rest 
Within some ruined castle's mouldering walls, 
Where forms once moved in joyous revelry, 
Which now — pale phantoms, flit in damp recess, 
As loath to leave the haunts they knew of old. 
Seeming to choose companionship with bats 
And owls — with slimy serpent — newt and toad: — 
Preferring it to that of living men. 

And yet — all things are real — a surging mass 
Of dark realities — where hope and fear 
Commingle with events, which chance may shape, 
Or accident doth mould, to forms so strange. 
They wake and startle fancy's wildest dream — 
And great results outstrip imaginings. 

No! Life is not a dream — a phantom grim — 
That flits across a sad — distempered brain; 
But stern reality that seems most real ! 
Therefore, I falter not — nor cease from toil. 
And still — with tireless energy — move on. 
As though fierce conflict, waged with sullen fate, 
Were but the pastime of a sportive hour, 
And toil were most delightsome luxury. 

The torrent pours its stream with headlong force 
Though clouds have ceased to shed their rain-drops down; 
The restless ocean-wave, moves onward still, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 99 

Though winds are hushed — and storms are sunk in sleep. 

Both day and night, the tireless stars still wheel 

Their rapid course around the distant pole. 

The pulse of nature ceases not to beat — 

But throbs right on, and knows not weariness. 

Then why should man grow covetous of rest. 

That dulls his energies — unnerves his thought, 

And locks in dull forgetfulness the brain ? 

Why seek for slumber's sweet oblivion, 

That deadens high resolve — checks noble deeds, 

And drives each aspiration from the soul ? 

Were mind but free from its integument 

What clog could hinder its activity, 

Delay its doings — dull its energies — 

Prevent great deeds from quick accomplishment ? 

Why link it, then, to that which seeks repose, 

I^oves ease and rest — and daily needs repair ? 

Whene'er we seek to rise, why bind us down, 

That with clipped wings we flutter in the dust ? 

These problems — who can solve — they weary me! 

Perchance the vast beyond may answer them; 
May bring solution forth from mystery — 
May bring relief — and banish this unrest — 
May cure this endless longing of the soul 
For something worthier far, than yet attained. 

Perchance, there is — beyond the sleep of death, 
A life that needs not sleep — a higher life — 
That fills the soul with restless energy — 
Nerves it with power to work each high resolve — 
Pours vigor through its veins, unielt before, 



lOO PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Infusing it with courage nought can daunt — 
Bidding it fear none else save Heaven's King. 
Perchance the countless ages, yet to come 
May give full scope to every faculty — 
Permit the soul with broad expanded wing, 
To cleave ethereal space — to wander forth 
The stars among — to trace the course of each — 
To search and find creation's outmost bound. 

Perchance — this too — is but an idle dream — 
A structure, fancy forms from fleecy clouds — 
A mirage — floating o' er the gulf of death — 
Concealed beneath, to make of all its prey: 
A gulf — that sw^allows thinker — and his thought, 
Devours the life of every human hope; — 
At whose dark bottom lies — Forgetfulness — 
Dread name! that doth alarm and starde all! 
And makes man fear and dread departure hence! 

This can not be! The soul is not a clod — 
A festering mass of flesh — fit food for worms 
To feast upon — then rot beneath the soil 
That covers it; — a brief ephemeron, 
That flits at morn, and with the sunset dies; — 
A spark — to light the world awhile — then sink 
Blackened and quenched — for aye — in hopeless night! 
Immortal life, most surely, must be real! 
'Tis not a dream — a false mirage that floats 
Above death's gulf, to cheat and torture us! 
Say, rather — 'tis the key that doth unlock 
Each hidden mystery that baffles us! 
That, 'tis the solvent life's enigmas need — 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. lOl 

That disentangles all its tangled threads; 
A sun that shines from out the dark Beyond 
To light the present — and the future cheer; — 
A talisman — that takes from death, its sting, 
Unbars the doors of sense, that shut us in, 
And opens up a higher destiny — 
The boundless heritage of endless years! 

If such man's destiny, by Heaven ordained — 
And such — alone, unriddles human life — 
That heritage belongs to me — to all: 
It gathers value with the rush of years; 
With age, on age, of spending — still unspent; 
Each rolling century augments its worth. 
What balances can weigh its purchase price ? 
What formula approximate in gold 
Its rental, for a single century ? 
And yet — ten thousand centuries shall pass 
Before the morn of that supernal day 
Shall usher in the fullness of the noon; — 
And still ten thousand more, shall onward sweep, 
Ere noon — with its effulgence — shall be past. 
A million ages hence — life's just begun, 
A million more — no nearer to its close — 
Are thoughts no finite mind can comprehend, 
And yet, those words express a truth believed. 

Since immortality pertains to man — 
His lofty bearing should with this comport; 
Humble — yet dignified; — joyful, though grave; 
Not haughty — yet too proud to stoop to vice; 
No deed be done, that brings the doer shame; 



I02 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

No act, that to the actor sends remorse; 

No thought indulged, that leads the heart astray; 

No habit formed, that prudence says, avoid; 

No folly sought, that wisdom bids us shun — 

No work omitted, duty bids perform; 

No footstep fear a retrospective look : — 

Firm for the right — invincible to wrong; 

Each thought and act — each word and deed be such, 

As, ages hence — the judgment will commend: 

The life and conduct such as God directs. 

And then, the conscience must, and will approve. 

If such our heritage, and grand estate, 
And such the obligations it entails — 
Why pine in restless weariness o'er chance. 
And fate, should they — for one brief hour, delay 
The full accomplishment of high resolve. 
And all our aspirations check and thwart, 
And bind us down to constant daily toil ? 

Since endless years is man's inheritance — 
This life must be a prelude to the next; — 
Brief space, to test the attributes of each; 
A starting point, — (presage of life to come,) 
Where each may choose the path his feet shall tread 
Through coming ages: path with no return — 
Which upward leads — or, downward, evermore. 

This life — how brief! The next — august — and grand! 
A dew-drop — this — a spider's thread suspends! 
The next — bottomless sea — without a shore! 
This life — a speck — a mote — no length nor breadth! 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 103 

The life to come — beginning without end! 

A narrow space — the present — Hes between! 

And yet — men halt upon the crumbling verge 

That separates the t-.vo — and hesitate — 

Which path to choose— the one that upward leads, 

Or, that, which downward tends — where demons dwell. 

Yet some there are — who make the vain attempt, 

Upon the ladder of their own deserts. 

To scale the upward heights — without the aid 

Of Heaven — nor seek the pardon proffered man; 

Believing God will sanction unbelief — 

And save them— though they scorn His offered terms. 

That ladder full of broken rounds — too short 

To reach the skies! It crumbles as they climb! 

By few, but its possessor, ever seen — 

It disappears, when death unseals the eye. 

Man's best desert — a chain with broken links, 

It reaches not to heaven— but drags the mire! 

A widows mite — to purchase wealth untold. 

Worthless — save when His image stamps the coin! 

Be then — our boast — His worth, and sacrifice. 
Who purchased ransom with His sinless blood; 
Our thoughts and acts to Him be consecrate; 
So shall we meet the vast Beyond with joy — 
Shall feel no more the weight of weariness — ■ 
Unriddle mysteries that baffled us — 
Exultant enter on our grand estate — 
The boimdless heritage of endless years, 
As those, in darkness — gladly seek the day. 



I04 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 



A GLANCE AT LIFE. 

WHAT is our life but constant strife, 
Maintained at Fate's command ? 
While wandering o'er an ocean shore 
A shore of drifting sand. 

And what our dreams, our fondest schemes. 

Our struggles after fame; 
But toil and care, to grasp the air, 

Or write in sand a name ? 

And yet to live and not to strive — 

'Twere nobler far to die; 
For what doth death but stop the breath, 

That we from toil may fly ? 

Each active mind, doth leave behind, 
Its thoughts and deeds to men; 

We close our eyes; an act ne'er dies; 
It lives and acts again. 

Hearts free from soil, hands full of toil, 

Whatever path is trod; 
'Tis thus we do deeds that are true 

To country, self, and God. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 105 

Then be our life — an earnest strife, 

Some nobler steep to gain; 
That when we rest in earth's damp breast, 

Our toil be not in \^m. 

Our motto then for tongue and pen, 

" Upward — onward ever, 
Hands full of toil, hearts free from soil, 

Feebly faltering never." 



THE SOUL HATH A VOICE. 

LIST! Thou hast a soul within thee. 
Soul descended from the skies; 
Shall it stoop to vulgar vices ? 

Or by truth and virtue rise ? 
Hark! A voice within thee calling, 

Voice that's heard above the storm; 
"Wilt thou seek the reptile's crawling 

To its life thy deeds conform ? 
Thou hast nobler path before thee, 

Path that leads thee to the sky 
And the stars are whispering o'er thee 

Climb to us and never die." 

* ' Like the condor of the Andes, 
Or the bird on Freedom's flag, 

Scale the loftiest heights of honor. 
Rest but on her topmost crag. 



io6 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Is thy noble pinion drooping, 

Pinion that can soar subUme, 
With a flight that never stooping 

Conquers space and Uves through time ? 
Lofty peaks are frowning round thee, 

Peaks that claim a daring eye, 
Break the spell too long hath bound thee, 

Soar — till thou shalt never die. ' ' 

' ' Soul a nobler strife awaits thee. 

Strife that hath a lofty aim. 
And successful it shall win thee 

In the hearts of men a name; 
Wake thee from Lethean slumber. 

Slumber that hath bound thee long, 
Break each iron bond asunder, 

Gird thee up and be thou strong. 
There are lofty heights before thee, 

Heights no human foot hath trod, 
And the stars are whispering o' er thee 

Climb, to heaven — worship God." 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 107 



REPLY TO THE SOUL HATH A VOICE. 

SOUL thy potent voice hath spoken, 
Words that thrill this mortal frame, 
Deep within life's fountains stirring, 

Warming every azure vein. 
Cheeks with hectic hues are flushing. 

Fires are gleaming from the eye, 
As the fevered life-tide gushing, 

Seeks to do, thy bidding high. 
Days of toiling, nights of watching, 

Swallowing up whole years of time, 
These shall prove the impulse catching, 

I have heard that voice of thine. 

Like the eagle and the condor, 

I would proudly rise and soar, 
Scorning every crawling reptile. 

Stooping to the dust no more; 
Bursting every bond asunder 

Thrown around by sloth and pride, 
Shaking off the dew of slumber, 

Casting every clog aside; 
Upward — onward — never tiring — 

Truth and virtue still my aim. 
To some lofty height aspiring, 

I would write a deathless name. 



lo8 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Toiling for the coming future, 

Shunning vice and every crime, 
Doing good to all around me, 

This my task — forever mine. 
Right and justice, still defending. 

Come the contest where it may. 
Though the warfare be unending. 

Battling wrong from day to day; 
Thus the heights of honor scaling, 

I would climb their loftiest peak, 
Duty's path with eye unquailing. 

Mid surrounding danger seek. 

Yes thy potent voice hath spoken, 

Slumber's mystic charm is o'er. 
Heard are all those startling voices, 

Whispering o'er me, "sleep no more.' 
Danger now shall not appal me, 

Toil but nerves me to the proof, 
Sloth and ease shall not enthral me, 

Time is warp, and deeds the woof. 
And the rapid shuttle flying, 

Moves unseen by human eye, 
May it carry deeds undying 

Weave a mande for the sky. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS, 109 



REVERE THYSELF ! O MAN ! 

REVERE thyself ! O Man ! Lift up thy head, 
And stand erect, as doth become a man, 
Who hath within a boundless destiny, 
A deathless spirit — an immortal soul. 
Destined to live till ages cease their round ! 
The great Creator's breath by thee inhaled — 
His image stamped upon thy upturned face — 
The blood of the Eternal coursing in thy veins — 
These have bestowed on thee unending life. 

Thou canst defy the storms that sv/eep the earth, 
And lay in dust proud fabrics reared by man, 
Earthquakes that shake huge rocks asunder, 
And topple down vast hills and mountain peaks; 
For thou shalt still survive when earth is dead. 
And sun and moon have faded from the sight. 

The mortal clogs that bind thee down to earth. 
Shall soon be cast aside, and thou shalt soar, 
Unbounded heights, above earth's highest peaks; 
Beyond the reach of telescopic view. 
Ocean may toss its billows to the sky. 
May show its might by navies crushed and torn, 
It can not harm the deathless soul of man. 

Thou canst defy opposing elements ; 
Canst say to them? " Do what ye will to me, 
" I yet shall live to triumph over ye, 



no PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

" And shall survive when ye have spent your rage. 

'* I know my destiny. It is eternal. 

" I am eternal and shall live when ye are dead, 

" And this great universe is laid in dust. 

'' Ye are transient. Your rage will soon be spent. 

" I am immortal and can defy your power." 

Age and disease may palsy eye and ear, 
Make each lithe limb forget its suppleness, 
May crumble back to dust this outward form ; 
They but predict the soul's immortal birth, 
Its entrance on a higher life beyond. 
By death the soul receives its second birth. 
Divests itself of all mortality, 
And enters on its final heritage. 



PRAYER : QUESTION AND ANSWER. 

WHY bid men pray ? What power hath prayer, 
To change the stern decree of heaven. 
Or turn aside the thunderbolt. 

Of grief — by which the heart is riven ? 

Can prayer release the tomb's embrace. 
And cause the marble cheek to bloom, 

Or, melt the chilling frost of death, 

The light of life — when quenched relume ? 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. m 

Can prayer assuage the deepest grief, 

And staunch a bleeding — ghastly wound ; 

Or ward off Sorrow's crushing stroke, 
And make the heart with joy rebound ? 

Can prayer restore the cherished past. 

Recall to life a withered flower ; 
Fond hopes renew — sweet dreams awake, 

For one brief hour ? Prayer hath what power ? 

What hath it not ? The prayer of faith 

From feeble lips in sorest need. 
Scarce breathed upon the silent air, 

Omnipotence is pledged to heed. 

Prayer may preclude the stern decree, 

Ere it hath passed the court of heaven, 
Or stay the hand that hurls the bolt, 

Ere, yet, the wayward heart is riven. 

Prayer brings new life to sablest death, 

Gives marble cheeks immortal bloom. 
Removes its terrors from the grave. 

And doth the parting soul relume. 

It doth console the deepest grief. 

And heal the bleeding— ghastly wound ; 
It wards off sorrow's bitter stroke, 

And makes the heart with joy rebound. 

Prayer seeks our Heavenly Father's praise, 

That heaven and earth His will obey ; 
Yet, keeps man's present wants in view, 

By asking bread, from day to day. 



112 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

'Twill not recall the buried past, 

Nor, yet renew the bloom of flowers, 

Eternal life — is its domain, 

It makes the boundless future, ours. 

Prayer hath, in power, no earthly peer ; 

It brings the aid of heaven's great King ; 
Then why not pray, in full belief. 

That prayer will needed blessings bring ? 

Bid all men pray — both old and young, — 
Though skies are bright, or darkly frown, 

The prayer of faith will never fail. 
To bring the choicest blessings down. 



DEATH: THE KING OF TERRORS. 

THE King of Terrors lurks on every side, 
In ambush lies — whatever path we tread. 
The sly intruder enters every home, 
And dwelling place of man, watching to strike. 
The destined victim singled for his prey. 
'Tis now the babe whose life hath just begun ; 
And now the patriarch of many years ; 
The mother, then, whose care her children need ; 
The kindly father, on whose stalwart frame. 
Mother and children lean for their support ; 
The priest, who by the hallowed altar stands ; 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 113 

The abject wretch, all crimsoned o'er with crime ; 

The mariner who braves the stormy deep ; 

The pioneer, whose sinewy arm hath struck 

The giant forest down, and reared a home ; 

The statesman, who hath sought his country's weal ; 

And he who by vile means doth seek for place 

For selfish ends, regardless of his countrys good ; 

The beggar, seeking alms from door to door ; 

The rich, who revel in their grand abode. 

And feast themselves and gloat upon their wealth ; 

The poor, who wresde hard for daily bread; 

The august monarch on his lofty throne. 

Who sways the toiling millions with a nod; 

The lowly peasant in his humble cot, 

With growing infancy upon his knee; 

The student pouring o'er his musty tomes, 

Striving to rescue long forgotten lore; 

The poet whose facile pen, in song gives name 

And life, to fancy's airy nothingness; 

The philosopher, who vainly strives to grasp 

The universe, and trace each hidden cause. 

To its effect — and show a wondering world; 

The scientist — construcUng theories. 

Of man's formation from a senseless beast, 

And how creation, long since, formed itself. 

With no creative hand to mould its shape. 

All these are forced to bow before this King, 

And yield at length to his relentless sway. 

He lurks invisible in pleasure's cup. 
And rides unseen upon the viewless air; 



114 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

He sows the seeds of death in stagnant pools, 

And scatters microbes on the harmless winds, 

The cyclone bears him on its rapid wings, 

The whirlwind, wafts him o'er its circling course; 

The ocean floats him on its stormy crest; 

The earthquake's shock betrays his dread approach, 

The hghtning's flash, oft executes his will; 

Both pestilence, and cholera are hurled. 

By his right hand o'er all the peopled earth. 

He touches with his unseen wand the brave. 

And vigorous exulting in his strength. 

And weeping friends inter him from our sight. 

To shun his withering touch and safety And, 
Some seek the mountain side — or quiet vale. 
And some encamp beside the inland lake; 
Go where they may to hide from his approach, — 
They trample graves of the forgotten dead — 
Yet he will find them when they feel secure. 
And strike them, when they least expect. 

Relendess foe! That doth pursue mankind! 
Now striking down the rugged in his prime. 
And now the feeble in his helplessness; 
What earthly power can turn thy shafts aside 
Or thwart thy obdurate purpose to destro}^ 
Canst thou not spare the gay and beautiful. 
The ambitious youth, who looks to future years, 
To reap fruition of his daring hopes ? 
Hast thou no pity for the victims slain ? 
No feeling for the mourners left behind ? 

Though thou canst play the spoiler here on earth, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. u^ 

Yet, there are higher reahns, thou canst not reach. 

Each one of those whom thou dost lay in dust, 

Shall rise again, and triumph over thee. 

Thy fiercest stroke, but plumes their wings for flight, 

Dissolves the earthy clogs that bind them down, 

And sets them free — to soar above thy reach. 

Thy keenest shafts, thus give immortals birth, 

And waft them to their final destiny, 

The boundless heritage of endless years. 

A sinless soul can well defy thy power. 

For glorified celestials fear thee not. 

A sin washed soul exultant seeks the skies, 

Filled with the hope of immortality, 

Un terrified by thy uplifted dart,— 

It doth exclaim; " O! Death where is thy sting." 



ALL ARE BUILDERS. 

ALL men are builders from their youth 
And life, the building time; 
And some build on the rock of truth, 

And some on error's slime. 
A builder sought to build a house. 

He was a foolish man; 
He labored long — but failed at last; 
He built without a plan. 



Ii6 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Of stone and brick and timber too, 

He had an ample store, 
With tools enough and help to spare. 

He could not ask for more. 
He first built up — and then tore down— 

And then — built up again; 
But nought had he to shelter him, 

When stormy winter came. 

Another builder strove to build, 

But counted not the cost, 
And though he toiled from day to day, 

His labor all was lost. 
For all his means were gone before. 

His task was half complete; 
And everybody laughed at him, 

That passed along the street. 

And then, another sought to build. 
But built upon the sand; 

And when the winds and waters came. 
The structure could not stand; 

And down it fell — the brick and stone- 
It crushed him by its weight. 

And all his neighbors said, that he 
* ' Deserved no better fate. ' ' 

Another still, then tried to build. 

But did not persevere. 
And ere his task was half complete. 

The wintry storms drew near 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. ny 

And so he failed for ' * want of time, ' ' 

As idlers oft complain; 
And blamed all others, but himself 

The only one to blame. 

And thus they built or strove to build, 

Their structures weak and frail, 
Without a plan or on the sand. 

Exposed to every gale; 
But wind and rain and rushing floods, 

Would gather wildly round, 
Till yielding to the elements. 

Their dwellings strewed the ground. 

Now last of all, a builder built. 

Who was a wiser man; 
He counted cost — and sought a rock, 

And had a noble plan; 
He built a structure high and large. 

And strengthened it with care; 
And when the building was complete. 

He sought a refuge there. 

Then wind, and rain, and rushing flood, 

All gathered in their might, 
But could not harm that dwelling place; 

It was a noble sight; 
And stood upon a solid rock. 

No winds or floods can harm. 
While in it slept this prudent man, 

Safe sheltered from the storm. 



Ii8 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

All men are builders from their youth; 

And life, the building time; 
And some build on the rock of truth, 

And some on error's slime: 
And some shall sleep secure from harm, 

When storms and floods assail; 
While some lie crushed beneath the weight, 

Of structures weak and frail. 

Now ye, who build a warning take. 

Nor build upon the sand; 
But form a plan, and count the cost — 

And work with steady hand; 
Until a structure strong and firm. 

And founded on a rock, 
Shall nobly rise, to greet the eyes, 

And stand the tempest's shock. 



TOILERS AND IDLERS. 



M 



EN there are who ceaseless labor. 
With some worthy end in view; 
Though the heavens gather darkness. 

To some lofty purpose true. 
Men there are encountering boldly 

All the fiercest frowns of fate, 
While the world is gazing coldly 
Full of pity, scorn, and hate. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Deeds they do of noble daring, 
Struggling— toiling— hoping still; 

Gifts of fortune never sharing, 

Scattering good— though reaping ill. 

Men there are who scorn to labor, 

Squandering tnne without an aim; 
Though the skies are bright above them, 

All the future bright as flame. 
Such there are of feeble sinew. 

Hearts of willow— forms of lath — 
Like the chaff, the winds do winnow, 

Blown aside from every path; 
Though the world is fondly gazing, 

Cheering and approving still, 
Though a thousand tongues are praising 

Reaping good— but scattering ill. 

Days are coming when the former 

Toiling now, in grief and pain, 
Rich rewards, with joy, shall garner, 

Present loss— be future gain. 
Days are coming when the latter, 

Fearful of approaching doom. 
Sad — forsaken — none to flatter — 

Naught shall see to light the gloom. 
Days are coming when each reaper 

Harvests that, which he hath sown; 
Heaven favors not the sleeper; 

Worthy deeds, are good seed sown. 



I20 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Let us then right gladly labor, 

With some noble end in view; 
Though the heavens gather darkness, 

To each lofty purpose, true. 
Let us then, encounter boldly 

All the fiercest frowns of fate, 
Though the world is gazing coldly, 

Full of pity, scorn, and hate. 
Then the future — brightly dawning 

On each weary — watchful eye, 
Soon shall fling the robe of morning 

O'er the present wrathful sky. 



BEAUTY MAY FORGE AN ARTFUL 
CHAIN. 

BEAUTY may forge an artful chain, 
The captive soul to bind; 
But ' tis in vain, she coils her chain, 
If not around the mind. 

For beauty's form may charm the sight, 

Perhaps the weak control; 
But ever bright in heaven's own light, 

Is beauty of the soul. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 121 

The beauty which I love to see, 

Is beauty that will bind; 
And may it be, e'er found with thee, 

Within the heart and mind. 



LONE ALL ALONE. 

THE LOVED OF OLD. 

1SEE her— the loved one — with form so fair, 
That I almost fancy an angel is there ; — 
With her graceful neck and her teeth of pearl, 
And her temples hung with a glossy curl ; 
As she floats along, like a wave of light, 
At the noon of day, or the dead of night ; 
When the rain falls fast, and the storm winds moan, 
I see her — she is gone — 1 am lone, all alone, 
She is gone — I am lone — and the world is cold. 
To a heart that mourns for a friend of old. 

I see her — oft see her — through far away, 

From the spot, where we met, when our hearts were 

gay ; 
When the skies are dark and the wind is hio-h, 
I see her before me, in fancy's eye, 
And the skies are bright and the wind unheard, 
As, I gaze and feel all my life blood stirred ; 



122 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Then I look again — and that form hath flown ; 
I see her — she is gone — I am lone, all alone — 
She is gone — I am lone — and the world is cold, 
To a heart that yearns for a friend of old. 

I see her — she comes — and an angel band, 

With their robes of light all around her stand ; 

I would clasp that form — but she turns away, 

And her star-lit eye — and glad smile say " nay," 

Then she beckons me on, to that land of bliss. 

That is brighter by far than spring is, in this ; 

And she whispers to "meet her when life's dream is 

o'er, 
In that land where to meet is to part no more" 
I see her — she is gone — I am lone — all alone — 
She is gone — I am lone and the world is cold, 
To a heart that mourns for the loved of old. 



THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 

YOUTH, whom genius doth inspire 
With an earnest, strong desire. 
To achieve a worthy name, 
By noble deeds and lofty aim — 
Hearken, ye ! and ponder well ! 
Golden truths brief words may tell. 
Practiced arm — and sinew strong, 
He doth need, who conquers wrong. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 123 

Genius with its heart of flame- 
Lacking labor— hath no name ; 
Rugged labor doth anneal 
Iron muscle — nerve of steel, 

Both are needful, in the strife 

Oi\ the battle field of life. 

Falsehood — with its crafty wiles 

Many a careless soul beguiles. 

Truth with error old and gray, 

Oft doth meet in deadly fray ; 

Toil must form the warp and woof 

Of thine armor, to be proof, 

'Gainst the deadly cut and thrust. 

Else, had laid thee in the dust. 

Vigorous thrusts, and blows of might. 

He should wield who strikes for right. 
With a mind to comprehend . 

Life's chief purpose— aim— and end— 

With a soul that wavers not — 
Though remembered — or forgot — 
Calm resolve — and purpose high — 

Fearing not— to do— or die- 
Strike at Error's hoary crest ! 
Strike at Falsehood's boastful breast ! 
With a heart that doth not quail, 
Though each cherished purpose fail— 
And a f'lith so strong and high, 
That it brings the heavens nigh, 
Strike at Wrong— and thrust at Guile, 
Strike at Fraud's deceitful wile ! 



124 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Vigorous thrusts and blows of might, 
He must wield who strikes for right ; 
Practiced arm and sinew strong, 
He doth need who conquers wrong. 

Strike ! till life's fierce conflict's o'er — 
Heaven's King tells thee — "Fight no more 
Bids thee lay thine armor down, 
Wreaths thee, with a victor's crown ; 
Takes thee from this field of strife, 
Crowns thee, with immortal life; 
Then shalt thou rejoice, for aye — 
O'er the conflicts of a day. 



A BIRTHDAY SONG. 

1WILL sing you a song. 
While sailing along. 
On the magical River of Time; 
Full calmly I float. 
In my mystical boat. 
To a wonderful sea sublime. 

That River is wide, 

And rapid its tide, 
And ceaseless the flow^ of its stream; 

Its current is strong. 

And it moves along, 
As still, as a swift passing dream. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Like leaves in a blast, 

The bright shores fly past, 
While nearing a fathomless deep; 

In youth they moved slow. 

But, as onward I go. 
More rapidly backward they sweep. 

Neither night nor by day, 

Is there halt or delay. 
Though friends but a moment entreat; 

But onward — still on — 

Till the great deep is won. 
Where all that is mortal must sleep. 

Yet never a moan, 

I sail not alone, 
Other barks on that stream are afloat; 

They are sailing like me, 

To that fathomless sea, 
That o'erwhelms both sailor and boat. 

Some hearts may shiver, 
As Time's rushing River, 

Doth bear them so swiftly along; 
While others less fearful. 
Untroubled and cheerful, 

Are greeting the world with a song. 

Then merrily sing. 

Till the soul takes wing, 



125 



126 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

From its bark submerged In the deep; 

Though this life doth seem, 

Like a fitful dream, 
That occurs in a troublesome sleep. 

For why should I moan ? 

I sail not alone, 
Many barks on that stream are afloat; 

They are sailing with me. 

To that silent sea, 
That o'erwhelms each sailor and boat. 

Let us join in a song. 

While sailing along, 
On the broad — swift current of Time; 

Just over the sea, 

There awaits you and me, 
A life, that is grand — and sublime. 



THE QUEER PREACHER'S QUEER TEXT. 

I WENT to church one Sabbath morn. 
Our parson was away; 
A stranger of imposing form, 
Was there to preach that day. 

A hymn was read, and loudly sung, 

Then came a rambling prayer; 
It roamed around, all lands among, 

And tarried everywhere. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

The preacher then with solemn mood, 
Took " Horses " for his text; 

He spoke of horses bad and good, 
In this world and the next. 

He peopled air with neighing steeds, 

And chariots of flame; 
And told of all the mighty deeds. 

And conquests they might gain. 

One horse was white, and one was red, 

A coal black barb was one; 
They galloped around the speaker's head, 

And pranced upon his tongue. 

The hungry lambs of that pious flock, 

Looked on in sad dismay; 
Unused to feed on " blooded stock," 

Unfed — they turned away. 

That worthy man, mistook, methought. 

The wants of those he fed; 
Or, else he would not thus have sought, 

To feed such food — for bread. 

Let gifted clergymen beware, 
What food they give their flock. 

For sheep and lambs will seldom care, 
To feed on "blooded stock." 



127 



128 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 



THE CLOSE OF THE TERM SCHOOL. 

tune: silver moon. 
SONG. 

AS we go from the school at the close of the term, 
To mingle in life's busy scenes; 
We shall think of the hours when we gave all our powers, 
To the study of books and bright dreams. 

Chorus. 

In our youth and while hope builds its nest in the heart, 
And bright dreams of the future do cheer, 

We'll never, never more from true learning depart, 
Tho' , we part from our comrades so dear. 

As we toiled up the steep of fair science high hill, 

Full gladly we labored each day; 
While as pleasant and well as a fairy like spell. 

Did the hours of school pass away. 

(Chorus.) In our youth, etc. 

But those moments are gone, we shall meet them no more, 

They have swept like a swift shadow by; 
Like a dream of the night that the morn puts to flight, 

Did the term which is past seem to fly. 

(Chorus.) In our youth, etc. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 129 

Oh! never again shall we feel so much joy, 

As we've felt during days that are past; 
For so pleasantly time did our studies employ, 

That we liopcd it always would last. 

(Chorus.) In our youth, etc. 

But 'tis gone — and our tears ;ill unbidden will start. 

As we think of the joys that are fled; 
From our school-mates to part sorely grieveth the heart, 

And it boweth in sorrow the head. 

(Chorus.) In our youth, etc. 



A SCHOOL SONG. 

tune: dearest maeT. 

WE have a song to sing you now, 
You'll like the tune we know; 
It's all about the district school, 

To which we used to go. 
They did a smashing business once, 

On doors and window sash; 
But times have greatly changed of late. 
We let alone the ^lass. 



I30 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Chorus. 

The love of study, 

Not found in days of yore; 

Hath made the school a different place, 
From what it was before. 

It then was thought to be all right, 

To idle time away; 
And teachers too, would flog and whip. 

Full forty boys a day: 
And when a boy had ciphered quite 

As far as Rule of Three, 
They thought he was so talented, 

That president he'd be. 

(Chorus. ) The love of study, etc. 

Our teachers now but seldom whip, 

Or use the beechen rule; 
They never scold or fret about, 

But keep a quiet school: 
But when a lad will not obey, 

We think he is a clown. 
The teacher calmly takes the rod 

And smooths his temper down. 

(Chorus.) The love of study, etc. 

Our patrons come to see us now. 
And bring their friends along; 

They cheer us with their pleasant words, 
We greet them with a song; 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

The school they find a pleasant place, 
Where boys behave like men; 

And girls — there's not an idle one, 
Where once they counted ten. 
(Chorus.) The love of study, etc. 

Now we presume you all will ask. 

How has it come about, 
That we've so changed the district school, 

And altered it throughout; 
W^e answer, that, 'twas brought around, 

By blackboard, chalk, and scholars. 
By teachers too, and parents you 

Have done it with your dollars. 

(Chorus. ) The love of study, etc. 



131 



A DEAD YEAR'S REQUIEM. 

INTO the shoreless ocean of the Past 
Another year hath sunk. Its pulseless form 
Fixed, as the sculptor's marble, when the hand 
That fashioned it is cold — now lies beneath 
Still waters — where its kindred ages sleep. 
No funeral knell at its departure tolled — 
No gloomy pall was hung athwart the sky — 



132 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

No tone of lamentation swept the earth — 
No dismal wail came from the tempest's lips — 
No chanted requiem from the thunder's voice — 
No dirge was muttered by the earthquake's throat — 
No burning tears poured like a torrent forth, 
From out the deep volcano's fiery eye — 
To show that grief had filled great Nature's heart, 
And bid creation mourn beside its bier. 

A multitude of those who welcomed it 
With joy and revelry — when first it came— 
The young and gay — fair forms — the strong of limb — 
Who bore the burden of the day — old age 
With hoary hair and feeble step — loved ones. 
Whose every fiber twined around some heart — 
With eyes that ne'er shall catch the light of morn 
Again — closed lips, that utter forth no sound — 
Pale cheeks, no longer wreathed with rosy smiles — 
With cold — still hands — folding an icy breast — 
Beneath the waves of that remorseless deep 
Have sunk — borne downward with the old year's corse 
Seen never more. 

Such is the doom of man ! 
His aspirations and his dreams — his hopes — 
Resolves — his brave attempts at worthy deeds — 
His loves and hates — his fears — each friend and foe — 
All things he dotes upon — and e'en himself — 
Shall soon be gathered in those silent depths 
Unheeded ; — while each coming year shall heap 
Its shattered wrecks upon him ; — yea, the year 
Itself — and year on year — age after age — 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 133 

Shall strew their mouldering ruins over him, 
Then lifeless sink into that boundless deep 
Whose noiseless and returnless wave moves on — 
Yields not its prey — and laves no friendly port. 

What heart but mourns the loss of that dead year, 
That came and went, so like a passing dream ? 
Its quick departure tells a tale so brief — 
And yet, so full of sadness, and of tears ! 

That year hath left behind the memory 
Of lofty purpose, not to be fulfilled — 
Of expectations — never realized — 
Of stern resolve — and disappointed hopes — 
Of anxious fears, while watching great events — 
Of grief and pain at sundering kindred ties — 
Of anguish felt while gazing on the dead, 
Whose hearts once beat in unison with ours. 

The stream of time, which on its bosom bears 
The myriad barks, that carry human schemes, 
Man's cherished hopes — pours its unending tide 
Into the relentless ocean of the Past. 
What power can check its course — its current stem ! 
What craft unwrecked beyond that river's flow ! 
What freighted bark shall touch that ocean's wave, 
And ride triumphant on its surface chill — 
Devoid of living freight — its pilot gone — 
Its captain — helmsman — sailors, dead — no chart, 
Or compass left — its fickle course to guide. 
And none to rescue from the dread abyss ? 
Should some proud barge — more lucky than the rest 
Bear up a while — and wrestle with its fate. 



134 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Like some strong swimmer on the briny deep — 

Yet, none the less, it disappears, at last. 

With other wrecks, — o'erwhelmed in that dread sea 

Whose mocking billows sport with human grief, 

And toss themselves, and shake their hoary locks, 

In scorn, above the monuments of earth, 

The crumbling fragments of man's noblest work. 

That year — so full of varied incident — 

Returns no more. 'Tis sad to say — farewell ! 

Another station on life's journey passed ! 

Another leaf from life's brief story torn ! 

Scarce twelve months since, with lusty life, it came. 
Joy filled its eye — hope flushed its cheek — its face 
With golden light of expectation glowed. 
It brought, within its circling arms, rich gifts 
To hearts and homes where desolation reigned ; 
Lifted the shadows from despairing brows. 
And poured the balm of gladness into wounds 
Which grief had made in many a troubled breast. 

Its fate, so much like human destiny, 
We part with it, as from a cherished friend. 
And deem it hath a soul akin to ours. 
And yet — no resurrection morn shall dawn 
On its decay ; and no returning life 
Come back, to wake its deep, oblivious sleep. 
Its future life is that embabned in deeds, 
In kindly acts — in grateful memories — 
Which souls immortal cherish and recall. 
With tear-dimmed eyes, we view its lifeless form 
Entombed within the waters of the past ; — 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS, 135 



Then slowiy turn away, to other scenes, 
To banish grief— and sadly say — adieu ! 
Old year adieu ! 



HASTY SEPULTURE. 

OBURY me not in the lone, damp grave 
^ Ere my life-tide loses its vital heat ! 
Pile not on my breast the cold, heavy clods, 
When this throbbing heart first ceases to beat. 

bury me not with the eager haste. 

That the spendthrifts heir of a rich estate. 
Oft shows to the miser, who hoarded his gold, 
While the poor went starving from his gate ! 

And bury me not as the pauper dead 
Are hurried away to the potter's field — 

When pestilence stalks in city and town, 
And the human heart by terror is steeled. 

1 have stood by the sick man's couch through the night. 

And watched o'er the flush of his hectic cheek, 
Till his brow grew pale and his eye grew dim. 
And his white lips ceased forever to speak. 

Yet we buried him not when the morrow came. 
Though his spirit had gone to the God who gave, 

But watched by his side through another night 
Ere we bore his corse to the silent grave. 



136 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

For we cherished a hope that he still might live — 
His breath come back, his pulse might return, 

That his eyes would open, those lips might move, 
That life's smouldering fires again would burn. 

We buried him not as a foeman's corse 

In hurriedly buried when battle is o'er, 
But as brave men bury a comrade slain, 

Whose place, in their ranks, they can fill nevermore. 

Inclosed in a casket, bedewed with our tears, 

Slowly and sadly we laid him to rest 
In a newly-made grave by the fir-tree's shade, 

Mournfully placing the turf o'er his breast. 

Then bury me not in the lone, damp grave, 

Ere this life tide loses its vital heat ! 
Pile not on my breast the cold, heavy clods, 

When this throbbing heart first ceases to beat ! 



DEDICATION OF AN ALBUM. 

"T^IS not to sleep in cold forgetfulness, 

1 'Tis not to yield his being up, and like 
The brief ephemeron at morning flit, 
And with the sunset die; 'tis not to sink, 
And ne'er on earth to be remembered more, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 137 

That doth content the thoughtful soul of man. 

For deep within are kindly sympathies, 

That seek to link the present to the past; 

And yearning hopes that reach to future years, 

And say, with tearful eye; " Forget-me-not." 

For this full oft some token sought or given, 

Is cherished as a priceless pe^irl or gem. 

For this full many toil the steeps of fame. 

With weary steps, to climb and win renown. 

That they may never die. And yet how few, 

Of those we love, do we remember long, 

For busy cares, and wildering phantasies, 

And wayward dreams of future earthly bliss, 

Too frequently do choke each budding tie. 

While yet — a ripening. And thus through life, 

We meet and part, and then, oftimes forget. 

All save the name of those affection else. 

Doth bid us cherish in our " heart of hearts." 

Then be this book, a casket rare of gems, 

Affections gifts — the jewels of the mind, 

That friendly hands shall trace o'er each fair page. 

And which shall oft recall past hours and friends, 

F'orgotten else, or scarce remembered. 

And ye, who bring your choicest gifts to place 

Upon this alter fair, I charge ye wdth 

No rude and careless hand to place it there ! 

For know ye well ye bring a priceless boon. 

Whose value floods of care and rolling years, 

Shall but enhance to the true heart that guards them. 



138 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 



JENNY LIND'S SONG OF WELCOME 
TO AMERICA. 



L 



AND of the Noble free! 
With joy I come to thee, 
Where brave old sire and son, 
Under a Washington, 
Poured forth their blood, in crimson flood. 
For freedom and the free; 
Sweet land of Liberty! 
Welcome! Welcome! be thy shore, 
Freedom's land forevermore! 

Land of a Franklin's birth! 
Land full of noble worth, 
Where lake, and stream, and rill, 
Deep vale, and cloud-capped hill, 
Can proudly tell — the magic spell. 
By Freedom wrought for thee; 
Sweet land of Liberty! 
Welcome! Welcome! be thy shore, 
Freedom's land forevermore! 

Land of the Pilgrim rock! 
Sons of a noble stock. 
Long shall with thee abound; 
Their names afar resound, 



PEBBLES AND B O ULDERS. j 39 

Thy broad domains — and fertile plains, 
Now reach from sea to sea; 
Land of the noble free, 
Welcome! Welcome! be thy shore, 
Freedom's land forevermore! 

Land of the bards of old, 
Thy fame, in song, foretold, 
Had raised thee to the sky. 
But towering still more high, 
Thou standest now — while on thy brow. 
These words shall ever rest, 
' ' Asylum for th' oppressed. ' ' 
Welcome! Welcome! be thy shore. 
Freedom's land forevermore. 

Land of the noble free! 
My home I left for thee. 
Home, that I loved full well. 
Whose joys no tongue can tell, 
Thy shores to greet — thy sons to meet. 
Thou freest of the free! 
Sweet land of Liberty! 
Welcome! Welcome! be thy shore, 
Freedom's land forevermore! 



140 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 



THE UTILITY OF THE ALEHOUSE. 

ACCORDING TO DARWIN. 

I BELIEVE, 'tis said by Darwin; 
" That, the fittest doth survive, 
In the struggle for existence 
That the less fit do not thrive." 

This perhaps, is better doctrine, 

Than to call our fathers apes, 
And assert, the only difference 

'Is — diversity of shapes. 

So we may adopt the former, 

While the latter we reject. 
As, it may give a solution 

To the problem of our text. 

When mankind began existence. 
Strength of muscle was required; 

Brutal natures — coarse — and savage — 
Were the main things, then desired. 

If a man was sensual — devlish — 
Eating — drinking — to excess — 

Shouting — yelling like a demon, — 
He was honored none the less. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 1 4 j 

He was leader of the war-dance, 

In a battle took the front; 
When exterminating wild beasts — 

He was captain of the hunt. 



If no battle were impending, 

When the savage beasts were slain, 

Then he started brutal prize-fights, 
Got up dog-fights — cocking mains. 

Always foremost in a contest, 
He was chief at every feast; 

He excelled in eating — drinking — 
Often made himself a beast; — 

Yet survived ; — for he v/as fittest 
For the conflicts that occurred — 

And though somewhat coarse and ugly- 
Was a leader then preferred. 

But the weaker — and the feebler, 
Though possessed of larger brain 

In these "rough-and-tumble" contests 
Could not long endure the strain: 

They were vanquished by the stronger 
Both the father and the son; 

Not the fittest for existence — 
They soon perished one by one. 



142 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Now — 'tis said — the times have altered- 
That for brains there is a call; 

That with plenty of machinery, 
Sense and muscle '' Jmg the wall.'" 

That the sensual — coarse — and wanton 
To this higher law must bow, 

As, the struggle for existence, 
Favors better natures now. 

That the animal and brutal 

Must be weeded from the earth 

And their places filled by others 
That are fitter — better worth. 

Digging gold in California, 
Hunting Indians on the plains, 

Might remove, perhaps, a portion — 
But requires too much of brains. 

And as wars are now infrequent, 
And this class is rather tough, 

Nature seeks a milder method 
To remove the coarse and rough: 

Seeks some process they delight in. 
Such as will remove them all; — 

Self-extinction is the method. 
And the means is alcohol. 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

Make extinction seem a pleasure, 
Give them something to enjoy — 

Let this be their occupation — 

And, they will themselves destroy. 

Drinking liquors as a beverage — 
Starting with the social glass — 

Till they love it — take it often — 
Soon — will bring all this to pass. 

Thus the sensual and the brutal 
(Now least fit of all the race) 

Will — by pleasant evolution — 
To the more refined give place: 

While the weaker — and the feebler, 
With a fuller — ampler brain — 

By their abstinence and virtue 
Soon— the mastery must gain. 

Should this theory of a Darwin 

Be regarded as correct. 
Then the Alehouse, hath its blessings, 

As it doth the race perfect. 

It removes the sensual — dev'lish — 
By extinction doth repress 

Brutal natures — coarse — and savage 
Eating — drinking to excess. 



H3 



144 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS, 

In the struggle for existence — 

Where, " the fittest doth survive " — 

It will aid the intellectual — 

Men of brains — will sooner thrive. 

Thus, doth Nature work her purpose — 
Out of evil — bringing good; 

Though, she does it, oft, b}- methods, 
Not so fully — understood. 

Thus the business of the Alehouse, 
Forms a part of Nature's plan. 

To exterminate the sensual 
And perfect the average man. 

Just as, vultures — fed on carrion 

Work a benefit benign — 
So the Alehouse — serves a purpose 

That would seem almost divine: 

And — as men detest the vulture 
Often thinking— Nature erred 

When she formed the obscene creature, 
Yet — he proves a useful bird;, 

So, the keeper of the Alehouse, 
Fat'ning on this deadly sin — 

By his wretched occupation, 

For the world — some good may win, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

And — 'tis said, we should be thankful— 
For the blessings, we recei\e — 

From a source — before unthought of — 
Should not for its victims grieve; 

For this work must be a good one — 
Since it doth result so well; — 

Vice suppressing — virtue strength' ning- 
Till in peace — mankind shall divell. 

Yet some think, in spite of Darwin, 
That the Alehouse fosters ill; 

That the object of its mission 
Is — to work the Devil's will: 

That though aiding self extinction — 
And its keepers often thrive — 

Yet mankind should not contribute 
Aught — to keep the thing alive: 

That it is a better practice, 
To persuade men to reform. 

Than to sanction their destruction, — 
For — all men are noble born ; 

And as all have souls inmiortal, 
Efforts made to drag them down 

Should receive 7io legal sanction — 
From the state — or from the tozvn. 



145 



146 PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 

If the maxim be a true one, 

' ' That the fittest doth survive — ' ' 

Surely keepers of the Alehouse, 
Will not always live and thrive. 



BROTHER, DEAR BROTHER COME 
HOME. 

ON THE DEATH OF A SISTER. 

ON a couch of pain lay a maiden fair. 
And parents and kindred were gathered there, 
For her cheek was pale — and her form was weak, 
And her breath so faint she could scarcely speak. 

So they gathered there, in a tearful band. 
For they knew her near to the spirit land; 
And they wept as they gazed on her speaking eye. 
And thought one so fair and young must die; 
That she — the youngest and dearest of all — 
" Pet lamb of the flock" — must obey death's call, 
Must be borne far away to an unknown shore, 
Where the sun shall rise and set no more; 
That their eyes would never again behold 
Her graceful form, in its earthly mold. 
Till the last trump sounds and the dead awake. 
And her spirit the bonds of death shall break. 

But an elder brother was absent then, 
Engaged in the eager strifes of men, 



PEBBLES AND BOULDERS. 147 

Unconscious that death, o'er her brow of Hght, 

Was casting the gloomy shades of night; 

Unaware the close of life drew near, 

To one — of all on earth — most dear; 

And, that, from those ashen lips there came, 

In accents soft — that brother's name, — 

That she sighed full oft, in a plaintive tone, 

" Brother come home — dear brother, come home." 

She has clasped the hand of each one there — 

Has offered for each a parting prayer; 

She has bidden them all farewell but him. 

Has watched for him long — till her eyes grow dim; 

Oh! where doth he tarry— and why this delay — 

When one he so loves — is passing away ? 

Oh ! why did he linger, far away, then, 

Engaged in the endless strifes of men ? 

The Queen of Night, in her mantle gray. 
Has usurped the throne of the King of Day; 
The stars that were hid in the liquid blue, 
Come forth and expose themselves to view. 
Her breath still lingers — she whispers his name — 
She is waiting for him. 

In sadness he came. 
He hath gathered there — with that tearful band, 
He clasps in his own, her welcoming hand; 
" O! meet me," she said, *' when this life is o'er, 
In the home of the blest — to part nevermore. 
The stream to be crossed, though fearful and wide, — 
The Saviour, who loves us, will guard, and will guide. 
Brother — dear brother — wherever you roam — 
Meet me at last — in that home — blessed home." 



1 4 8 PEBBLES AND BO ULDERS. 

Thus spoke that maiden — the youngest and best — 
Ere the clods of the valley her young heart pressed; 
Then folding her hands — her lips moved in prayer 
For those she so loved — who were gathered there; 
She prayed not for self — though death was so near 
Her trust in her Saviour had banished all fear. 
When her lips ceased to move — so fair was her face — 
It seemed that some angel had taken her place; 
As calmly and sweetly, life drew to a close, 
As if she were pleasantly taking repose. 
Ere morn in the eastern sky was breaking, 
' ' She slept the sleep that knows no waking. ' ' 

^ :{< il< >[i * * 

In a quiet nook — near a pine grove's shade — 

That fair young form was long ago laid; 

A brother and sister, now sleep by her side, 

With father and mother — who long since died; 

Yet — two of the brothers, who gathered there then — 

Now middle-aged — bronzed — and bearded men, 

Still live, to mingle with earth's busy throng; 

While the elder brother, who tarried so long, 

Now burdened by years — and freighted with care, 

Shows the winter of age in his whitening hair; 

But — oft — as he sits by himself — alone, 

Whether winds may sleep — or tempests do moan, 

He hears a voice calling — celestial its tone — 

" Brother — come home — dear brother come home." 



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